


Carry You Home

by Kappakay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sex, Language, M/M, Violence, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 61,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kappakay/pseuds/Kappakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Dean Smith is 27 and has a relatively stable, normal life as a mechanical engineer at MorningStar Inc. Sure, this life isn’t quite what he had in mind when he moved out of his parents house, but now that it has happened, Dean can’t say he’s unhappy. He can’t say he’s thrilled either though. </p>
<p>Enter stage Castiel; a riddle wrapped inside an enigma. He wriggles his way inside Dean’s life and everything about him seems right, although Dean doesn’t understand how or why. On top of that, he starts to have the same dreams he had as a child. Dreams of traveling the country with his make believe brother Sam fighting monsters except now, they’re bloodier, and way more vivid. So much so, they start to bleed into Dean’s life. Plus, to make things more complicated, Castiel seems to be hiding something. A secret so big, it makes Dean ask a big question: Just who exactly is Dean Smith?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Oh my fucking God. I've never finished a long fic. Ever. I make plans to write one, get as far as writing the beginning, have an end planned but the middle is just so goddamn HARD. However, I suckered through this, and I fucking finished it. Huge, huge, huge, HUGE, thank you to my friend Adonya who I first told this idea to and basically threatened to kill me if I did not write this. And continued to threaten me. And also put up with my random breakdowns in class as I thought of things to add to CYH. Seriously, she deserves all the fucking awards. Go thank her. Because I will be (even if her methods were a little... unorthodoxed).  
> Big huge thank you to xlostloonax for the fabulous art (and for putting up with me and my continuous emails. Ahem). CYH is not the same without it <3
> 
> Other fabulous people that get mentions:   
> My beta Elize who came to my rescue when my original beta couldn't do it anymore. Much love to you girl. I hope money randomly flies into your lap.   
> Thea for giving me feedback on scenes and providing the preview manip for my teaser post on tumblr (and for my playlist)  
> Everyone and anyone who would listen to me rant about my story. 
> 
> I'm done giving thanks. Now, one important note about the cafe I mention in the story. It is based off of a cafe I work at, so if it seems different from what you usually expect in a coffee shop, that's why.

It was the coffee that enticed him to come back every morning. It was something different, not like the usual brews that all tasted like ash. This coffee had a hidden basket of fruits dwelling in its taste, and an aroma as romantic and soothing as a dozen roses. For Dean Smith, it was the perfect start to an otherwise monotonous morning.

Dean was going crazy trying to figure out the proper numbers to present to his bosses for the meeting on Thursday. He’d been staring at the same set of numbers for the past few days, rechecking his calculations, making sure he got the Mohr’s circle right and everything seemed fine. But the numbers just refused to add up. He ran his program again, but the algorithm came up with the same answer as before. Even after he changed the horsepower of the engine and the barrels, he was rewarded with nothing; the virtual car just refused to be built. 

With an exasperated sigh, he leaned back in the stiff café chair, running a hand through his hair and resisting the urge to throw the laptop. Ever since the file had been dropped on his desk two months ago, Dean had attacked it with enthusiasm. The chance for him to rebuild what was possibly the most gorgeous car that ever existed was too good of an opportunity to pass up. His excitement slowly waned to annoyance however, as the retro Impala refused to accommodate the new engines and gaskets that had been improved over the years. 

He reached across the table to grab his soothing cup of Joe, only to be greeted by the bottom of the cup. As if on cue, a waitress gravitated over “Need another cup hun?” she asked, her smile a little on the overly friendly side. 

Dean quirked a small smile and a nod in response, staring down at his laptop as the waitress took the dirty cup away, ignoring the downturn of her lips. He usually wasn’t cold towards the staff at the Buzzing Bean – in fact he regularly flirted with the staff- but that was before the file. Lately, his niceties had been growing sparse. Reluctantly, Dean hunched forward again, fingers poised over the keys on his computer as he read through the figures again, trying to figure out where he went wrong. 

He was just reading through the force calculations again when a ceramic cup steaming with his go juice was put on the table, a soft clink letting him know it landed. Without looking away from his screen, Dean reached to pick up his cup, his hand stopping when it brushed against something he wasn’t expecting. Another hand. Looking up expecting to see the blonde from before and trying to not look utterly annoyed. He did a double take when he saw a man standing there instead, blue eyes shining.

“My apologies.” His voice was gruff and low, similar to the rumble of an engine. 

“Whatever man,” Dean replied briskly. “Thanks.” Raising the cup to his lips, he took a swig, the flavours filling his mouth and making his shoulders relax. Perfect. 

Balancing his arm on the back of his chair, Dean settled in to work again, when he saw the man was still standing there, frozen still and looking at him with a weird glint in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make Dean frown slightly. He was used to the ladies gazing at him openly from time to time, lust visible in the sparkle from their eyes and the curl of their lips, but this was different; it wasn’t lust. It was something new. And Dean didn’t know what to do with it.

“You going to keep staring or what?” Dean snapped. 

“Or what,” the man said, eyes still glazed over. 

Dean blinked, scrunching his brow. “What?” he said incredulously. 

If this guy was playing some pickup game, Dean was not having any of it. There were other issues at hand, most important of which involved figuring out how to either strengthen the base of the car so it could withstand a full on nuclear engine, or how to tone down the recoil of said engine. He didn’t have time to flirt with the only male waiter in an otherwise estrogen-filled establishment.

“What?” said waiter deadpanned, not grasping what Dean was implying. 

Annoyed, Dean snapped his laptop closed and leaned forward, placing his coffee on the table. “I’m trying to get work done. If you want something, say it. I don’t have time to play games with the fan club.” 

The other man blinked, small blossoms of red staining his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He crooked a smile, realizing too late what he was doing. “Ah yes, apologies again. You just…” He trailed off, gaze roaming to the side, his tongue licking his pale lips. 

“Just..?” 

“You look like someone I know.”

If this was his idea of the pickup line of the century, Dean was not amused. “Hate to break it to you pal, but I’ve never met you before in my life.” Believe me, I would remember someone like you, he felt like adding but kept his mouth shut.

The other man nodded, ducking his head down. “Castiel,” he mumbled, or at least that was what Dean thought he heard. 

“What?” he asked again, his patience wearing thin. 

The man looked up and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My name. It’s Castiel.”

“No offence, but that is one weird-ass name.”

Castiel chuckled, briefly looking down at his feet. “I hear that a lot.” He looked back up at Dean, his gaze giving Dean strange vibes with its intensity, like he was willing Dean to say something, anything. 

“Dean,” he eventually blurted. 

Castiel nodded, almost like he knew. “Nice to meet you, Dean,” were his last words before he turned to the table beside Dean and picked up its dishes, leaving with arms heavy and Dean more than just slightly confused and definitely too irritated to work. Not even bothering to try focusing again, he packed up his stuff and high-tailed out of the café, blue eyes following him home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello Dean,” was his friendly greeting the next morning. 

Dean folded the newspaper over just enough so he could glare at the coffee waiter without showing his whole face. “Castiel,” Dean replied, annoyance creeping into his voice. He wasn’t exactly in a bad mood yet, but he enjoyed the quiet mornings before work, when he could shut himself out from everything and just enjoy the simple things. To have his routine interrupted was a prime catalyst for a bad day.

“How are you this morning?” If Castiel was getting any of the negative vibes Dean was sending, he was either ignoring them, or just letting them bounce off his strangely radiant presence. 

Either way, Dean was not in the mood. “What are you doing?”

Castiel crinkled his eyebrows, little folds appearing around his azure eyes. “I don’t understand. Isn’t it socially acceptable to ask another person how he is doing?”

_Who is this guy?_ Aloud, Dean replied, “Well yeah, but sometimes people don’t like it.”

“It is considered a kindness, is it not, to go out of one’s way to see how a stranger is doing when said stranger seems to be on the edge of breaking?” Castiel asked, pulling out the other chair for the two-seater table and sitting down across from Dean, never looking away. Dean made no move, just waited. Castiel took this as a sign to continue. “From what I’ve seen when you walk in here, you’re always stressed. You sit with your shoulder hunched, brows pulled together in concentration, and you drink enough coffee to dry out any well-respected coffee chain. Why not relieve some of that stress?”

Dean huffed. “If you’re asking me out, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.” 

He snapped the paper back up, successfully hiding Castiel from his view with the Knick’s victory over the Lakers, two teams he really didn’t give a shit about but he didn’t want to look at the other option in front of him right now. Hidden behind the paper, he wiggled himself into a proper sitting posture. 

“Any sort of romantic interlude was not intended, but I suppose it is a possibility I might consider in the future.” 

The newspaper folded outward towards Castiel, revealing a bewildered Dean who was giving his best bitch face. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I wouldn’t ‘kid’.”

“Buddy, have you ever talked to strangers before? You know without freaking them out?” 

Castiel leaned back, shifting Dean’s still-full cup of coffee so that the handle was parallel with the edge of the table, facing towards him. “Generally, no. I uh… lack the skills that allow for fluid conversation, but one learns from experimenting.”

“Maybe you should find another test subject.”

“I never insinuated you were labeled as such. Do you have something against casual conversations?”

“Just a bit,” Dean said sarcastically, spinning his coffee back so the handle faced him. He spun it with too much gusto though, spilling a tad over the side. Cursing himself he looked about for a napkin, not noticing that Castiel had pulled one out of his own pocket and cleaned up the mess until he turned back and saw the man putting away the dirty napkin. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Well now if he just said scram, Dean would feel like an ass, so he tried to frame it politely. “Look, I’m sure you’re a real nice guy, underneath all that stiff awkwardness, but I’m really not in the mood.” 

“You haven’t been in any mood aside from ‘strung out’ for going on a week, possibly longer,” Castiel stated, following the path of the coffee cup with his eyes as Dean raised it to his lips for a drink. 

“And there is a reason for that. I’m busy.” Dean stated, clacking the cup down on its saucer. 

“I gathered as much, but that is why people socialize: to vent about their problems. Among other social ambiguities I’m sure. Either way, burying yourself in work isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t have problems,” Dean huffed. 

“Maybe you do.”

“Even if I did, they would be _my_ problems, Cas.”

A small fond smile lit up Castiel’s face. Dean frowned, unsure why he was getting good feedback from what was a major blow off. “Nice nickname,” Castiel said.

Dean blanked. It took a moment for it to click into place that he just gave a stranger – a really odd, socially inept stranger – a cutesy nickname. And he had no idea where it came from. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “It’s a helluva lot easier than saying ‘Castiel’ all the time, “ he quipped defensively, shifting in his seat. 

“I have no objections.” Castiel replied sincerely. “It truly is a good nickname.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Dean said, not thinking before he spoke. Seriously, what was wrong with his mouth and brain today? One should technically listen to the other, but it was as if the circuit got fried and the mouth was just going. Next, he’d end up not only saying something stupid but also doing something stupid, which would mean…

Okay, time to go.

Flipping his wrist up to see his watch, he pretended to be surprised by the time and closed his newspaper. He didn’t know what was going on, but this stranger had an eerie effect on him, and Dean couldn’t deal. His nerves were strung high enough by just being near Cas, and he had to go to work. With a quick nod in Cas’ direction, Dean grabbed his side bag and practically ran out the door. 

If there was one thing Dean Smith was good at, it was avoiding problems. Cas was a problem. No worries. He just won’t go to the Buzzing Bean anymore. There were other coffee bars along his street that would love his service. 

Realizing he hadn’t actually processed the time, Dean checked his watch again. 11:28. He had just spent twenty minutes talking to a guy he didn’t know, and kept telling himself he did not want to know. And now said guy had made him late for work

Peachy.

 

Everyone at work always teased him about his preference for the outdated. He still used a computer with physical buttons, a cell phone that flipped open, a motorcycle that only hovered an inch or two off the ground, and more importantly, he still loved cassette tapes and mullet rock. There were the people who loved classics, and then there were the people who loved antiquity. Dean had a thing for antiques. These new computers that companies kept coming out with (where one practically had to imagine the keyboard into existence) were too much for him. 

Times were changing though. The world continued to turn and technology continued to evolve into the impossible. What was once make-believe was now real; all this summoning shit from nowhere was too complicated for him. Not that he couldn’t understand it, he just didn’t want to. What was wrong with having something corporeal in your hands? Maybe that was why he was trying to revive a hundred-year-old car, a longing for simpler things. 

The 1967 Chevy Impala wasn’t much to look at back in those days. She was long and heavy. Built more like a tank really. The way the company painted the cars back then was spotty at best, and her turning radius was crap. But it was the blemishes that made her beautiful to Dean. It spoke to him through the screen on his computer, begging to be upgraded and brought back out onto the streets. 

What he really wanted was to get a hold of an original model. It was all well and good to look at pictures, but he couldn’t feel the texture of the metal beneath his hands, couldn’t see the glare of the rims as they sparkled in the sun. He could imagine driving around in her all he liked, but he couldn’t hear her purr.

Classic cassettes would go well with the old Impala and Dean had quite a collection, courtesy of random donations from people cleaning out their grandparent’s attic. He cherished them, often putting them into his semi-functioning boom box when he needed to think. It was a good thing the employers didn’t mind his eccentricities. Not only did he blare his music in his office while he was working, but he sang along, even though he sounded awful. 

Dean knew he didn’t fit in with the norm of what an office employee should be, and he didn’t care. Monkey suits weren’t his thing. Neither was sympho-funk or whatever the fuck the stiffs were calling it these days. All and all, Dean should have been born in the late 1900s not the late 2000s. 

It was the end of a semi-long day. The green glare on his infrared clock read that it was just after six. Lunch had been neglected, as had his afternoon snack and flirt with the secretary. Coupled with the way his morning started and the disruption of his routine, he could hardly say he was surprised. Once something was torn, it had to be ripped all the way down the seam after all. Might as well make that final tear.

Snapping his laptop closed, Dean packed up for the night, turning off his stereo and hiding it in the closet, along with his tapes. No matter how many times they teased him about being an old soul, he will not buy for a second that his coworkers do not secretly covet his stuff. He tidied up his desk just enough so it didn’t look like a paper shredder spewed all over his place. Satisfied with what he saw, and double-checking to make sure he locked his closet, Dean switched off the light and headed out of the building, throwing on his olive green jacket and his bag.

He started to head towards the car garage but stopped halfway through his trip, an idea crawling into his head. Today was a day for changes; from talking with a stranger to arriving late for work, nothing was going the way it usually did. Before landing this job with MorningStar Inc., Dean avoided sticking to routines. But work required he get up by a certain time, go home at a certain time and everything else around him settled into its own little slot during the day. 

It was the mundane life he hadn’t seen himself living as a kid, but now that he was living it, he couldn’t exactly complain. He couldn’t say he loved it either. Maybe all he needed was something small to spice things up. Nodding his head, he pocketed his keys and turned on his heels, heading out towards the park.

Winter was not his favourite season, but what it lacked in warmth it made up for in beauty, especially when the snow drifted lazily onto small tufts of grass, slowly burying green with white. The Christmas lights that were never taken down, only turned off during the summer blazed brightly along the tree line, complementing the bluish hues of the moonbeams being reflected off the snow. 

Dean neglected the paths that denoted the boundaries of the park, opting instead to weave around through the trees, not really sure which way he was going but enjoying the journey.

A soft crunching of snow caught Dean’s attention, letting him know he was not alone. Of course he couldn’t be - it was a public park. It was perfectly normal for someone to stroll through it, just as he was, enjoying the lights and the snow. He turned around, expecting to see a silhouette of a man but not seeing anything. Another crunch made Dean turn his head again, looking for the source of the sound. More crunches, sounding more methodical, like someone chewing too loudly while eating Frosties. 

At the next tree, Dean hanged a left towards the centre of the park, the crunches following. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the stranger happened to be going the same way at the same time as Dean. Or maybe he was just paranoid. He wasn’t scared; he worked out at the gym, got in his morning run every second day. It’d be easier to defend himself in a larger area if things happened to go south. 

Keeping his pace relatively the same, Dean marched out into the clearing in the park, towards a sole bench sitting covered in snow, the playground in front of it squeaking from poor maintenance. The crunches continued to follow him. One extra step, and Dean whirled around to face-

His boss Edward Temple. 

“Jesus man,” Dean exhaled. “You didn’t have to stalk me like that. Friggin’ freaked me out.”

“Sorry, Dean,” Ed replied, scratching the back of his neck. “I did call at you once, but you didn’t hear me. I figured I’d just catch up with you.”

“Right.” He didn’t remember hearing anything, but he was known for tuning out the world when his mind got busy. “What do you want?”

“Oh, you just dropped this,” Ed dug around inside his ratty trench coat, his glasses sliding down his face. “Ah!” he exclaimed, pulling it out and holding it in front of Dean like it was the most important thing ever, smiling big.

“A flyer?” Dean frowned, confused. “That isn’t mine.”

“What, really? Oh man.” Ed deflated, flipping the flyer around, eyes scanning the surface. “You can’t blame me. It sounds like something you’d be interested in.”

Dean snatched the flyer from Ed, not bothering to ask for permission. Ed may have been his boss, but he never treated Dean like an underling, only as a friend. Dean felt like he had to respond in kind, which meant asking for forgiveness rather than permission- that was how he treated all his other friends.

Edward was right. The flyer talked about the chance of a lifetime; one full night of classic covers done by the now hit rock band GhostFacers. Plus, a prize was going to be given to a random audience member whose name would be drawn at the concert. The winner would receive a basket filled with hard rock memorabilia and tickets for the next concert held by GhostFacers.

Yeah, this sounded up his alley. 

“Where did you even find this?” Dean asked, folding up the flyer and stuffing it into his back pocket. 

Ed shook his head. “It just was on the ground outside your office. I was going to throw it out, but then I actually read it and it seemed like something you’d like. I mean, it’s not a hundred percent authentic classic rock, I know, but it’s close enough right?” 

Something about Ed seemed off. Granted, he was always a socially awkward guy, but usually it wasn’t so blatantly obvious. 

“What do you really want, Ed?”

His boss scoffed, throwing his hands up with his shoulders in an exuberant shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found this nice thing for you and we’re in a park having a good friendly talk-“ at Dean’s glare he promptly shut his mouth, hanging his head. “Okay, look man. I don’t want to tell you this but uh-”

“I’m losing patience.”

“The meeting got moved up to tomorrow at six.” Edward blurted to his feet, cringing away from Dean. 

Silence. A full minute passed with nothing but Dean glaring daggers at Ed. His boss cringed, making random motions with his hands, trying to placate Dean without knowing how. “I know I know, I’m sorry. I tried talking to the executives, but they wouldn’t hear it.”

“You did explain that the details still aren’t hammered down.” 

“Of course! They didn’t care. They want the idea pitched ASAP.” 

Dean scrubbed his face, feeling his brain buzz. Tomorrow was way too soon. He still couldn’t figure out how to fix the recoil, much less how to fit the newly configured T-7 engines into what was designed to house a V-6. 

“Isn’t there anyone you can get to help speed the process along?”

“None of the other engineers are interested. They’re too wrapped up in their phone chips.”

“Man, I hate those things. GPS in your brain? I’d never be able to sleep.” Ed crossed his arms, shivering. 

“I need more time.”

“That was the best I could do.” Edward looked at Dean, the wrinkles around his eyes really pronounced. He reached a hand across and laid it on Dean’s shoulder. “Look man. I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to pitch this to the executives. It’s do or die time. If this falls through-“ 

Dean nodded. Ed didn’t have to finish that sentence; Dean knew. As frustrated as he was, Ed was feeling that tenfold. He was the one who had encouraged Dean to continue with the classic car revival, and it damn well almost cost his job. He had really stuck his neck out for Dean, and he’d hardly even known him back then. 

“Alright. I’ll do it. I don’t know how, but I will.” 

Ed’s eyebrows shot up off his forehead. “Fantastic!” His smile brightened up his face, easing those wrinkles down to laugh lines. “I wish you the best of luck then.” Removing his hand from Dean’s shoulder, he stuck it out in front of the other. Dean shook it, forcing an easy smile on his own face in response.

He was so screwed.

“Well, I’ll let you go then. Do your thing.” Ed backed up, nearly running into a tree. “You’ll be great! Just you wait and see.” With a small fist pump, he turned on his heel and headed back the way he came, following the dual footprints in the snow. 

Once Ed’s back was turned, Dean’s face fell. There went his evening. Not that he had had anything planned, aside from the standard go home, drink, and watch a rerun of the classic Star Wars, but still.

Orienting himself, he started to walk, not entirely aware where he was going as he counted figures in his head. It wasn’t until his feet hit pavement that he noticed what street he was on and where he subconsciously was heading. 

As big of a fuss as he made earlier at himself for not coming back to the coffee joint, he made no effort in actually putting his plan into motion. 

The chime of the door opening was accompanied by a welcoming blast of warm air, and Dean couldn’t help but give a small smile. The typical waitress stood behind the till, took one look at him and waved him on in. He waved back in thanks, and sat down at his typical two-seater table by the window, unpacking all of his supplies. 

His eyes scanned the restaurant, looking for Castiel. When he didn’t see any sign of him, he felt a small sense of relief mixed with, to his surprise, lingering disappointment. Dean dismissed it as nothing. He had work to do after all.

Opening his laptop, he launched himself into a world filled with numbers, diagrams and improbability. He didn’t know how long he stared at the same diagram with the dimensions of the pistons when he smelt peppermint; an unusual aroma for a café. 

“You design cars?”

Dean startled when Castiel’s voice came up behind him, rocking the table and knocking a few papers off its surface.

“Fuck, man. A little warning next time,” Dean said exasperated, bending down to grab the stray papers.

“How do you mean?”

Dean put the papers a little too forcefully back on the table, ruffling a few stray pieces. “I don’t know, a simple hello? Where did you come from anyways?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Castiel asked.

“Not from what I saw.”

“You were looking for me?” Castiel asks. 

Dean blanked and thought back on what he’d just said. He had to think again to double check if he did just say what he thought he did. It could definitely be taken the wrong way. _Who’s the creeper now genius?_ Dean cleared his throat, aiming to pick up his cup again. 

“I just… wanted to make sure… I could uh…” He took a sip, stalling for time. It was useless because he really didn’t have a good answer that didn’t sound absolutely ridiculous and non-stalkerish or mean. A soft breeze picked up on the back of his neck as Cas chuckled. 

“For someone who claims to not want anything to do with me, you sure do have a strange way of showing it.” 

Dean was gaping like a fish trying to come up with something, when a hand was placed on his left shoulder. He stared down at it accusatory but since Cas was behind Dean, he couldn’t see the glance. “Personal space man!” Dean blurted.

Another small chuckle. “My apologize.” Cas removed his hand after an awkward little pat and moved around to sit in the other chair. There was a small glint to his blue eyes that made them appear full of mirth. Dean scrunched his brow, not sure what the joke was.   
Castiel seemed different this evening. More relaxed in his posture, or maybe it was that he changed his clothes. Instead of the trench coat and suit from this morning, he was wearing a white coloured long sleeved, button shirt with ripped blue jeans, silver chain draped around his complementing his outfit nicely. 

“Why are you redesigning the ’67 Impala?” 

Dean looked up into the blue eyes when he realized he was staring at the necklace. “I uh... I don’t know. It just kind of spoke to me,” he said, fingers automatically resting on his keyboard. “I have a knack for fixing old, forgotten things.”

Castiel nodded, pursing his lips. “Makes sense.” He paused, looking down at the papers Dean had scattered around the table. Cas frowned, sliding one sheet towards him. “You know you have the density wrong for the aluminum plating.”

“… Sorry what?”

“The aluminum. You made it too thick.” 

Dean yanked the paper back from him, reading over it carefully. “It has to be that thick, or else the kickback from the engine will shred it like cheese.”

Reaching across, Cas took the paper back with a flourish. “You made the engine too powerful then.”

Dean sighed. “No, the power is fine.”

“It’s an air-breathing combustion engine.” Castiel commented, getting up out of his chair to stand beside Dean. “A turbofan in fact.” Maybe Dean was imaginging things, but it seemed like Cas was impressed with him, or he was imagining it all. 

When Cas turned to look at him, Dean scoffed. “The baby version. It hardly has enough juice to break the sound barrier,” he remarked. Castiel nodded, leafing through Dean’s scattered notes. Dean watched the other man’s hands work, more intrigued by the beige-black bracelet of skulls he was wearing. “Since when are you an expert on engines?”

Castiel shrugged, not looking up from the papers. “I had a friend who spent most of his spare time with cars.”

“Cars don’t have old jet engines inside them.” Not yet anyways.

“No, but it was a passion of his. He said that one day he was going to recreate the ‘Batmobile’. Apparently that required extensive knowledge of jet engines.” Cas laughed, a fond smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Was?” The past tense didn’t escape Dean’s notice. 

Castiel stilled mid shuffle, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his smile losing its former spark. Slower than before, Cas put the papers back down on the table and braced his hands on the edge. 

“Yes. He … he died. Some would say before his time, but then that’s what they all say.” Cas finally looked at Dean. The raw emotion that he saw made it hard for him to look away.

“What happened to him?” Dean whispered, his voice feeling raw.

“He lived through more than he could bear.” Something in Cas’ gaze was off; his eyes more like shattered glass than smooth water. It looked like he wanted to say more, but he changed his mind, turning back to the papers. 

Dean kicked himself for having the biggest, dumbest mouth on the planet. He could say sorry, but there wasn’t any place for empty words. Instead, he pushed the conversation away and grabbed onto something new. “I could do with a beer.”

He turned his head in time to see Cas give a small smile, slightly broken but still there. “I’ll go order some.” Putting the papers back down, he walked away towards the till. 

When Dean was sure Cas’ back was turned, he put his head in his hands. That was twice now in one day that Dean had said something stupid to Castiel. If he kept going down this route, Cas would be the one trying to weasel out of his company. 

_Why would you care,_ a small voice whispered in his mind, _isn’t that what you want?_

Earlier he would have said yes. Now, he wasn’t so sure. There was something that intrigued him about Castiel. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. So sure of who he was, and yet still broken at the same time: two contradicting characteristics wrapped up in one man. He wasn’t what Dean had expected, and now Dean could see it was a good thing. 

Cas wasn’t gone long before he returned with two dark bottles of beer, uncapped and ready to drink. “You’re never here at night,” he observed, swinging a bottle in front of Dean.

Dean grabbed the bottle out of Cas’ hand. “Yea. I got stuck with an ultimatum at work. Fucking corporate suits.” He sighed, taking a swig before setting it down on the part of the table that was not covered in paper. 

Cas swivelled the chair so that he could sit next to Dean, orienting himself a little too close. Dean loved over at Cas, but the other man ignored him, casually raising the bottle to his lips. It wasn’t until after Cas’ tongue had darted out and caught a stray drop of alcohol that Dean made a point of getting his attention. 

“Cas. We talked about this.” He gestured, pointing at him then Cas then back at himself. “Personal space.” He waited as Cas dragged his chair reluctantly away. It was only an inch, but the look Castiel gave made it seem like Dean had asked him to go away forever. 

Cas focused his laser eyes on him. “What happened at work?”

Dean half-shrugged. “The higher-ups decided they wanted me to move along faster. They’re excited for the remake and since they control the company, they can speed things along to get what they want. It doesn’t matter to them that I’ve been stressed about this for months, near on drinking myself into a coma, and still I can’t figure out what is wrong with my design.” Cas nodded along with what Dean was saying, encouraging him to continue. “I’m sure you’ve had similar problems with your job.”

Castiel screwed his face up in confusion, his nose and brow wrinkling. “I don’t understand.”

“This job. At the café.” Dean swept his hand around the room. “I’m sure it takes its toll on you too.”

“I don’t work here.” Castiel said slowly. Dean mirrored Castiel’s confusion. Cas slowly raised the bottle for another drink. “I brought you that drink the other day because I wanted to initiate conversation.”

“That kind of trick only works in a bar.” 

He felt like this was some kind of warning sign; that this guy was insane and Dean should high tail it out of there. But the intensity with which Cas looked at him made it hard for him to go anywhere. He was trapped by the blue fortresses of those irises. 

“I see you here almost every day, sitting alone and stressing over your job. I thought you could use something. Whether it is platonic companionship or a person to vent at doesn’t matter. Everyone needs someone.” 

“Thanks for the insight Dr. Phil,” Dean remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes, unwilling to admit that he was right. 

Cas’ smile spread its way across his face. “But then, my plan seems to have worked despite its low chance of success.” 

Why anyone would waste his spare time on Dean, he’d never understand. He scoffed and smirked at Cas. “Don’t get too cocky. You have yet to see me outside this joint. For all you know, I’m a crazy-ass son of a bitch who spends his nights drinking till he sees the other side.”

“I suppose I’ll have to be the judge of that.” Cas commented cockily, eliciting a grin out of Dean who despite himself was enjoying Castiel’s company. Dean winked at Cas, successfully emptying his bottle in one go, and slamming it back down on the table.

“If we’re going to get all deep and philosophical, I’m going to need another drink, Logan Thibault.”

“My name is Castiel.”

Dean rolled his eyes upward. If this guy didn’t have his looks, he wouldn’t have much else going for him. “I know. It’s a reference.”

“I don’t understand its premise.”

“Never mind. Just go grab another bottle for me will ya? I need to finish this draft sometime tonight and I’d prefer to be too drunk to remember doing it.”

“I’ve heard one works better being sober.”

“The greatest minds in the world have surfed through highs bigger than mine Cas.” At Cas’ continued confused stare, Dean waved him away, practically shoving him out of his seat with his own foot. “Just do as I say.” 

Cas’ chair tipped back, and his arms flailed out to grab the table before he could be sent plummeting to his embarrassment. He narrowed his eyes, and then continued to down his own beverage, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. 

“I’ve heard that misery loves company.” 

Cas grabbed the two empty bottles off the table and went back to the till to order more, Dean’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he watched the other saunter to the counter. If he was going to spend the night working, at least he had someone with him.

~~~~~~~~

Dean wasn’t one to think up fantasies in his spare time. His mind was always preoccupied with numbers and parts, never fairies and unicorns, but his dreams led him to believe that if he could write, he would have an amazing story on his hands. 

His dreams always started the same. He would be driving around in his dream car, classical rock blaring from his ancient radio, jamming out to the beat with another guy beside him, his ridiculously short Bieber cut bobbing as he reluctantly jammed out too. 

Then he would get a call on his cell and all the fun and games would be over. What he did in his dreams was hunt monsters. They ranged from the standard vampires and ghosts to obscure creatures like Mayan gods and rougarous. Dean fought them with this character he created in his mind, the character he named Sam. 

Every night for the past few months without fail, he had the same style of dream. 

So when the dream started out with him and Sam standing at a funeral pyre, he was intrigued by how it would play out. 

The atmosphere was completely different; there was no light-hearted joking, no super glue on the beer bottle and no classic rock. It was silent, except for the crackling of the fire in front of the duo. Dean could feel tears that refused to be shed behind his eyes, the pressure building up and making his head throb. Sam was less constrained, his cheeks wet from the streams that fell, no dam to hold them back. 

Whoever they were burning was obviously someone very close, but Dean couldn’t think of who it was. A family member maybe? A close friend? He wasn’t sure. All he could feel was a large black hole eating away inside him, right in his stomach. Something didn’t feel right about this, like the person they were burning left before he was supposed to and it was Dean’s fault.

Sam half-turned to Dean, not taking his eyes off the flames. “Before he…” Dean heard the hitch in his voice and swallowed. “Before, did he say anything to you? About anything?”

_Who did? Who is he? Why would he have told me anything?_ Dean wanted to ask Sam, but his voice was not his own. He felt his head shake slightly, his hands stuffing themselves into the pockets of his oversized leather jacket. “No. Nothing.” He was lying. He could sense it, but why would he lie? 

Before he could ponder on it for longer, the scene melted before him, a jumble of images all playing out a story too fast for Dean to understand. 

Shots rang out, cries of _Sammy!_ echoed in his mind. A soft voice answered, _Dean,_ but then the sharp tang of metal sliding through skin cut the person off. 

_Oh, hey look at me, it isn’t even that bad. You’ll be as good as new huh? I’m gonna take care of you. I gotcha. It’s my job right? Looking after my pain-in-the-ass little brother… Sam…Sam… Sam! SAMMY!_

More flashing images, some scattered and disjointed but some so vivid they were seared into his brain. A body barely wrapped, a woman with red eyes, a kiss, a resurrection. Then, black smoke everywhere, yellow eyes watching his every move. 

_You of all people should know that what’s dead should stay dead._

Everything got hot at that point. Flames brushed against his body, his skin melting like wax. Meat hooks came from the darkness, digging themselves into his limbs and pulling him apart, piece-by-piece. 

Maniacal laughter resonated in the darkness- _I’ll take you off the rack if you put souls on._ He felt his head shake, felt a razor cut deep inside him, felt the hot blood drip off of him and then he started to heal. 

He was whole again for a second before more cuts and stabs carved into him. _I’ll put my blade down if you pick one up._ This time he nodded and he was free. Free to carve into others, and he felt himself fade away. His smile turned twisted, dark. 

And then there was bright flashing light, so pure and so blue it blinded him, yanking him away from the flames. His left shoulder burned as something clamped down on it.

_Dean Winchester has been saved._

Then silence.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

With a jolt, Dean’s eyes shot open, a large beam of light illuminating his beyond-messy bedroom, broadcasting the evidence of his late night to him. As if he needed reminding. 

Grumbling, Dean smacked the alarm clock until it stopped the incessant noise and rolled onto his side, watching the dust float in the sunbeams. His mind was like an etch-a-sketch; his dream was being shaken out of his mind with each passing second that he lay awake and a part of him was glad for that. Though the dream was not dark, it hit a chord in his heart that he couldn’t identify. 

A rumble on his nightstand, followed by an enthusiastic man proclaiming it to be the heat of the moment jerked Dean out of his thoughts. Reaching out, he grabbed his phone and flipped it open, the bright screen making it difficult for his sleepy eyes to see the letters written on it. “Yeah?”

_“Dean! Good to hear you’re awake,”_ a loud, chatty-Cathy exclaimed over the line making Dean pull the phone away from his ear before he lost his hearing. 

“Dammit Johanna,” Dean groaned, burying his face in the pillow and bringing the phone back. “I’m not a child, I can wake my own ass up.”

“Except for those last few mornings where you actually slept through your alarm.” Jo countered huffily. “And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Johanna? It’s what Dad calls me when I’ve spilt tea on his laptop.”

Dean sighed. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough that I’m hungry and need you to make me breakfast. So hurry up and get dressed! The eggs in my fridge won’t crack themselves.”

“Get Gary to do it. Isn’t that part of his boyfriend contract or something?”

Dean could practically hear Jo’s lip curl up in disgust as she replied, “Yeah, didn’t work out with Gary. Dude had something against my style.”

“You mean he saw the inside of your house and freaked.”

“For the last time Dean, there is nothing wrong with my house,” Jo said exasperated. 

Dean chuckled lightly into his pillow. For strangers, walking into Johanna’s house was like walking into a hunters cabin. Her walls were filled with various paintings and newspaper clippings about the supernatural and her furniture was very Victorian with its blood-red upholstery and gold embellishments. Where most people kept books and lamps, Jo put old-style firearms and silver knives, her own version of accessorizing. 

All of it she claimed was part of her inheritance, but why anyone would hand down such creepy artifacts to their daughter was beyond Dean. 

He hadn’t had much of a family growing up. His dad moved around a lot as part of his job while his mom spent most of her time locked up in her study writing a manuscript that might or might not get published. With no brothers or sisters, he was left alone a lot. When he was five, Johanna moved in next door and Dean was practically adopted into her family. 

“I don’t cook,” was the excuse he used. Really, she ought to have known better after what happened when he tried to barbeque chicken. 

“Well learn in the next five minutes.”

“Fuck no.”

“Then take me to that place you always go to. I have got to try this coffee you keep raving about.”

“Go there yourself.” He had been down this road before with her. Every time she suggested they go do something, he ended up paying, and not out of the goodness of his heart, but because she claimed going to school. Fool Dean once, shame on Jo. Fool Dean twice or more? Fuck off Jo.

“Or you could just get dressed and meet me in the foyer.” 

A sudden chatter of noise played in the background. Dean lifted his head from his pillow. “You’re not here are you?”

He didn’t need his eyes to know she was smirking. “Yup! Now either you get down here or I go up there and drag you out of your warm, comfy bed, away from whatever prize you took home last night, and into the Buzzing Bean buck naked. Capishe?”

Dean bit his lip. Curse this girl and the extra key she swiped from his apartment last time she was over. “Yeah, I got it.” Flipping his phone closed, he threw it to the other end of the bed. 

For a moment, he seriously considered going back to sleep, chalking this all up to some bad nightmare, but he knew Jo, knew she would carry out her threats. There might not have been a ‘prize’ in his bed, but he was currently not dressed to appear before strangers, and he refused to make an ass out of himself. 

He yawned and stretched, his shoulder feeling stiff and awkward. Rolling out of bed he dragged himself over to his closet, stopping when he passed the mirror. Dean would never consider himself a narcissist, but he did catch himself looking at his reflection whenever he passed by a reflective surface. It was never a long look, only a fleeting glance just to check to see if everything looked okay. 

This morning, he saw something that was not okay and he paused in front of the mirror, momentarily stunned. His heart beating loudly in his chest, he turned, exposing his shoulder full-on in the mirror. It was there for sure; a red mark very distinct and raw. For a split second it took on the shape of a handprint, but then Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and it was gone, nothing but smooth skin. He scoffed and shook his head, blaming the light for its supposed trickery. 

Getting dressed and half decent was a harder task than he had originally thought. Mostly because his mind was still on the dream he had. There was something uncanny about it that he just could not shake, not really a déjà vu feeling, but more of a story long forgotten. That man who was burning, his make-believe brother, the bright light…

Somewhere between buttoning one of his many plaid shirts and stuffing his feet into his combat boots he felt something cold and wet drip onto his cheek. Confused, he looked up, checking his ceiling for leaks, but saw none. Gently, Dean brushed the drip off his cheek, tracing a path up to its source. It was then that Dean realized he was crying. 

What was going on? He’s had dreams before, nightmares even, where he has mutilated, tortured and killed people, but never had the feelings from within the dreams poured over into his life. Dreams were fiction, stories created by the subconscious to entertain itself while the body slept, nothing to be taken seriously. So why was this dream affecting him this way?

Deciding that Jo could wait longer, Dean grabbed a spare notebook he had laying around and started writing. He wasn’t one for the touchy-feely side of life, so he only wrote the key points, branching off it with questions. He never questioned his character, Sam, before, but now, he wasn’t so sure what to make of him. 

It didn’t take long for Dean to head toward his apartment door- at least not according to Dean’s perception of time. 

In Jo’s mind, it was; she had decided not to bother waiting and was standing in the hallway, her hand digging inside her pocket when Dean opened his door. Huffing, she took her hand out and put it on her hip instead. “Took you long enough Beyoncé.” Then her face twisted in confusion. “For as long as it took you to get ready, you don’t look that special.”  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for not expecting visitors at dawn.”

“You should. You never know what life will throw at you. What happened if the man or woman of your dreams shows up at your door, ready to whisk you away on an amazing adventure and you looked like you spend a little too much time with your face in a pillow?”

“I’d ask them if they’d like my face elsewhere.”

Wrinkling her nose, Jo waved away Dean’s comment. “Ugh, too much info. I don’t need that imagery all up in here thanks.”

“You asked for it.”

“Seriously though, you’re going out in public looking like that? Don’t get me wrong, some people go gaga for the plaid shirt, but you look more like a farm boy to me.”

“I’ve had the same style for most of my life Jo.”

“Nothing wrong with spicing up your life, bro,” Jo retorted, wiggling her eyebrows. “Honestly, when was the last time you did something stupid, for the sake of stupidity? And I’m not talking about your one-night-stands. Maybe if you were a little more outgoing-”  
“I’d get some, I know I know. When are you going to stop harping on me about my relationships?”

“Maybe when I actually see you happily in one for once.”

Dean sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. She meant well he knew, but the way she went about it was not ideal. To anyone else, it would’ve seemed rude, but it was how she showed that she cared. Dean had learned this through the years. 

She did this on occasion; mostly because she knew it drove Dean up the wall. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get laid- in fact, it was all too easy to have anyone in his bed – but holding onto one person was a different story. The longest relationship he’d ever had lasted for a year, and the girl had ended up sleeping with some other guy. Jo claimed that his ex had gotten tired of Dean not being diverse or adventurous enough with his clothes, which was total bullshit to Dean, despite the fact that Jo backed up her observation with psychology. (A desire to not change something simple such as a wardrobe is indicative of a man who is unwilling to accept change in his life she had said).

“You’re the only one that seems to think there is something wrong with what I wear. No one else says a damn thing.”

“That’s just because they don’t know you like I do. At least put on a dress shirt or something, I’m tired of looking at the plaid.”

It was really too early for Dean to be dealing with the ball of psychotic that was Jo Blake. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath before answering her. “There is nothing wrong with the way I look.”

“It’s so blasé. I thought I taught you more about fashion then this.” She gestured to Dean’s outfit like it was the most disgusting thing ever.

“This isn’t _The Devil Wears Prada,_ Jo. My job doesn’t rely on me having a fashion sense.”

“Last I checked you work in an office, not a garage, so dress like it.”

“News flash: no one cares what I wear but you.”

“Oh they care, you just scare them. Not me though sweetie.” Flipping her wrist upside down, she checked her watch. “If we hurry we can get to Hugo Boss before you go to work.”

“No.”

Jo crossed her arms and jutted out one of her hips. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“I’ll give two: one, that place just sews a label on its shirts and charges triple the price for it. And two, I don’t have to be at work ‘til six.”   
“Whatever. Why do you have to be at work by six?”

“I have to present an idea to the board-“

“Dressed like that?!” he interrupted, poking Dean on the shoulder to emphasize her point. “Wow, you’re hopeless.” 

“Again, I don’t have to be there until six,” he explained, enunciating his words with individual care like Jo was a small child. 

“Are you gonna actually wear something decent when you do?”

“What does it matter, this isn’t a fashion contest.”

“No, but having the right look makes people listen to you. It’s simple psychology man. Put on a suit, and those execs will be eating out of your hand.”

_I swear to God, if Jo tries to use psychology on me again, I will spit in her coffee._ “No thanks sweetheart. I’m not dancing around in front of corporate suits. Now are we going or what? I got out of bed for this.” 

Jo sighed with exasperation, pushing past Dean into his apartment, ignoring his protest. “You seriously should’ve taken psychology man.” Dumping her bags on his kitchen table, she clomped her way into his bedroom, commenting that there better not be a naked person in his bed. 

Throwing his hands up in the air, Dean shut his door before following her. It was really too damn early to deal with her.

Having grown up together, there was no sense of boundaries between the two of them. Because of that, when Dean entered the room, Jo was buried in his closet, throwing his clothes everywhere. Dean winced; it wasn’t that he was particularly a neat freak, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have his room trashed either; especially since he knew Jo wouldn’t clean up. 

“How can you not have a single suit? Did you never go to a wedding or graduation?” Holding up one of Dean’s jackets, she wrinkled her nose and tossed it casually over her shoulder. 

“It’s called renting a suit, or borrowing one from the old man, not spending thousands of dollars on something I’m pretty much never going to wear. Christ Jo could you not?” Ripping the hanger out of her hand, Dean hung his shirt back up. “I’m gonna have to spend hours fixing what you just did to my room.”

“Oh whatever, you only have like five shirts and two jackets. _That_ is the real crime here.” 

“And here I thought you were going to school to become a productive member of society.”

“Believe it or not, fashion police are in high demand lately. Now, as part of my contract, I must take poor unfortunate souls such as yourself, out shopping to fix your wardrobe.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a giant migraine working its way through his mind. Only Jo could do this to him in five minutes flat. “I’m not doing that.”

“Either, you agree to this, or I submit your sorry ass to _What Not to Wear_ and have your shame plastered all over the TV. Imagine the looks you’d get.” 

As crazy as it sounded, Dean knew she’d make good on her promises. He knew that first hand when a certain image went up all over the Internet… There was just no winning with this girl. 

“Fuck you Jo.”

She beamed at him. “And I love you, Deanie baby. Now come on. I need coffee and food.”

Throwing his arm out, he took in the entirety of his room. “Clean this up first.”

Jo grabbed her bags, flipping her long, brown, wavy hair over her shoulder. “You can fix it later. The call of the coffee with a side order of food is strong Obi-Won.”

~~~~~

In the end Jo won. 

She always did, mostly because Dean was a softy when it came to her. Even when they were children, Dean would always stick up for Jo as her unofficial big brother when she got picked on. It was like she was the little sister he never wanted. 

Sure, she annoyed the hell out of him at times, but she had a heart bigger than the ocean and was more than willing to help Dean out when she could. She came from a family related to some of the best mechanics in the business and some of them had the old fashioned cars that Dean salivated over. Sure, Jo bullied him, but he bullied her back. Such was the way of sibling love. 

Jo was most annoying when it came to talking about her education. She had psychology as a major with a minor in theology although she spent a majority of her time talking about theological aspects more than psychological ones. 

As the two walked down the street, she decided to supply the conversation since it seemed Dean was too grumpy to actually make an effort to chat. Whenever she got to choose the topic however, it always went to the supernatural. Maybe it had something to do with how she was raised-not that she was weirdly religious or anything- but she spent way too much time chatting about angels and demons. 

Once she got started on the supernatural, she would not shut up. An assignment for one of her theology classes was to write a research paper on any topic she chose, so for the next twenty minutes, she decided to ramble on about her topic of angels and how they compared to other benevolent supernatural beings across different religions. 

Dean loves Jo, he really does, but having her chat away at him like a motorboat was really wearing on his tired nerves. He caught himself yawning a few times during the walk and it is only when he sees the coffee shop just down the way that he actually perked up. 

Jo raises an eyebrow at his sudden change, and then smirks at Dean. “So, got any good stories for me?” Jo asked nonchalantly, lacing her fingers behind her back. 

Dean pretended to not hear her, instead opting to quicken his pace and walk straight into the Buzzing Bean. The aroma of fresh ground coffee filled Dean’s nose as he stepped inside, Jo tagging along not far behind. The inside of the café was loud, successfully drowning out whatever Jo might say to Dean. 

It was his own fault for telling Jo one drunk night about the weird supernatural dreams he was having. He knew she would have a field day, but she was disappointed when he had yet to dream of an angel, and she had made it her goal to pester him until he told her about them.

“Hello, I’m waiting over here hotshot!” Jo practically yelled at Dean to be heard over the crowd. 

He winced away from her, various people turning to give them a distasteful look. “No. I do not,” he bluntly claimed, digging around in his jacket for his wallet. 

Jo scoffed at him. “Come on, spit it out.” She pestered. 

Dean sighed as he shuffled forward in the line. Of course she wouldn’t leave it alone. “Give it a rest. I don’t have anything to say.”

“Oh then it must have been good. Was it naughty or scary? Out with it already.”

“Jo,” he warned, but she prattled on anyway.

“Was it Satan or her demons? That would be so cool.”

“No, it was not Satan- why are you still insisting he was a girl?”

Jo’s smirk widened as she explained the theories she’d been working on with a few of her fellow nerd students. Dean inwardly let out a sigh of relief. It was easier to block Jo out when she was doing all the chatting than when she expected him to engage as well. Jo probably knew he tuned her out, but if she did, she chose not to acknowledge it, just continued to chat.

He thought he’d get away with it too, until Jo smacked his shoulder affectionately. “Nice try, but you’re not getting off that easy.”

Dean rolled his eyes upward. “You know, normal people would leave it alone.”

“Thank God I’m not normal. Why are you being so evasive about this one? It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

She was right. It really wasn’t that bad in terms of spookiness, but there was just something about the dream that felt too personal for Dean. Sure it was fictional, but it hit a weird cord within him, making him feel _things._ And he wasn’t well known for sharing when it came to those _things_ he feels. 

When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to answer, Jo huffed. “Fine. Don’t share. Then you get to buy me coffee.” She said, her tone on the verge of a sing-song. 

A ringtone suddenly emanated from her pocket, prompting Jo to pull out her cellphone to glare at it. Claiming she would be back momentarily, she accepted the call, running out of the café where there was less noise. Dean watched her go, shaking his head. 

He was called up to the till where he placed his order and paid the waitress before stepping off to the side to wait for it. If Jo was going to be this feisty all day, he was going to get worn out fast; just thinking about it made him want to order another coffee for himself so he could have one in each hand. Or maybe he should have bought a beer. As much as he loved Jo, spending an entire day with her was going to be taxing. Dean didn’t know why he loved to torture himself so much. Maybe he was a masochist. 

Deep in his musings, he didn’t hear or see anyone approaching him until a low, gravelly voice said, “Hello Dean.” 

Dean, visibly startled, snapped back to reality, his eyes widening. Cas watched intently, arms hanging loosely by his side. He looked tired with big bags hanging under his eyes and the hint of a five o’clock shadow on his face, but his eyes sparkled with their own energy, in complete contrast to the rest of him. 

“Jeez Cas. If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn you were Nightcrawler in a past life.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “Who?” He asked innocently, and Dean can’t help but chuckle. 

“Never mind. What’s the word? You look like you got put through the washer and skipped the dryer.”

Cas looked down at his clothes, fiddling with the topmost button. All of the buttons were off by one, making the shirt sit awkwardly on his shoulders. How someone could walk out of the house like that was beyond Dean. He may not have been as fashionably aware as Jo, but he still knew when something was off in his own outfit. “I uh, had a disagreement with the drying machine. Apparently I bought the wrong setting so instead of dryer fresh, I got-” he trailed off, and looked down at himself pointedly, “-this.”

Dean chuckled again, reaching over to straighten Cas’ collar. He just did it without thinking, so when Cas’ eyes popped, Dean stilled. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat; dropping his hands fast like it never happened and fiddling with them as he tried to brush away _whatever_ he just did, mind racing to come up with an excuse.

“No one should go out lookin’ less then what they are. Just, you know, trying to do you a solid.” 

_Oh God what is wrong with me?_ It was like he didn’t know boundaries or something. Which he really, really did. He had a strict ‘no chick flick moments’ policy that he stuck to - no hugging and no intense emotional conversations were allowed in his presence, unless it was absolutely necessary for the situation. 

All in all, Dean Smith did not do touchy-feely stuff. Now, here he was with a guy he just met, fixing his shirt and damn it all, he could feel a blush, of all things, rising to his cheeks. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

“I appreciate the sentiment.” 

Dean’s attention snapped back to Cas, intrigued to see his face melt into a soft tender look. Cas picked up where Dean left off, fixing his own collar so it was lying mostly flat with a bit of flare on the back of his neck. It didn’t work too well, since his buttons were still askew, but he couldn’t very well take his shirt off in the middle of a busy café. 

He huffed out a sigh. “Apparently dressing myself is an exercise in futility.”

“Everyone has off days.” Dean shrugged. “Hell, if it makes you feel better, I’m being dragged against my will to an all-day shopping spree.”

“Why?”

“According to a friend of mine, not owning a suit is a crime against fashion. She’s making me get one for my meeting tonight.”

“Your day sounds better than mine.”

Dean scoffed. “What could possibly be worse?”

“I got called in for an emergency at my work. Some people just don’t know how to speak proper Latin.” Cas shook his head, clearly disappointed. 

“I don’t see how mispronouncing a word can be an emergency.”

“I take my Latin very seriously Dean. If someone elects to learn the universal scientific language, I expect them to eventually be flawless at it,” Cas replied, a glint of mirth dancing on the corner of his eyes.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Talk about being a hard ass. Bet your students love you.”

“They knew what they were getting into when they signed up.” Cas shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

It just occurred to Dean he had no idea what Cas did for a living. For all he knew, he preached by day, and hunted by night, a la Kim Possible. But asking outright now would seem rude. “So obviously you’re a teacher.”

“Of sorts. I do a multitude of tasks for a friend of mine’s company. Or at least I used to, lately though it seems I spend most of my time pulling people’s asses out of the fire.”

“Which includes a mispronunciation of Christo?”

Cas tilted his head, “You speak Latin?”

“God no, but I know at least a few words. Harry Potter spells count as Latin right?”

Cas gave him an odd look, but continued as if the aside never happened, “One syllable can be the difference between praising the Lord and calling him an assbutt.”

A smile twitched on Dean’s face. “I don’t think they had that kind of language back in the day.”

Cas tutted. “How do you know? You never studied the language.”

Dean pursed his lips. “Touché.”

A holler from the bar told Dean his drinks were ready. With a thank you and a smile, Dean picked them up, eyeing the front of the shop to see if he could spot Jo outside. 

“I should let you get back to your adventurous day. Try not to drown in your sorrows.” Cas remarked, his face stoic. 

“I’d rather do anything other than this. Hell, I would even go with you on your lame ass trip of language. Anything is better than shopping.” Dean grumbled sipping from his coffee and feeling the buzz he longed for. 

Cas’ whole body tensed. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“What that shopping sucks? Anything is better than being dragged to _DoucheBag Boss._ I think I’d rather get mauled by dogs.”

Something ignited in Cas. Before Dean knew it, Cas had grabbed his jacket lapels and was sticking his face right into Dean’s personal space, despite his insistence the night before. He froze, chills running down his spine from the blue fire boring into his soul. Their faces were so close, the air between them mixing with their shared breath. Tension hung between the two, silent power crackling in the air. 

Dean didn’t know what set Cas off, but everything about the other man screamed contained anger. Maybe Dean was crazy, but he could swear that this looked like a guy who could level a building with a finger and not blink twice. There was something powerful, something ancient in the other man that chilled Dean to his core. 

Dean backtracked, feeling like he’d over stepped an unknown boundary. Maybe it sounded weird for him to say something like that to Cas? It wasn’t as though he was actually asking Cas to take Dean with him, it was just harmless banter between friends. Had Cas taken it seriously? The guy had a sense of humor that was for sure; Dean had cracked a few jokes the night before that earned him a musical laughter from Cas. Whatever he’d said, it had somehow offended Cas and provoked this strange reaction.

Just as quickly as it happened, it ended. Cas let go of Dean, stepping back out of his space. “I have to go. Good luck in your meeting.” 

While the sentiment was courteous, his tone was anything but. The friendliness in his voice had been replaced by a clipped anger. In the blink of an eye, Castiel turned tail and stalked out the door, the chiming of the door his only form of goodbye.

“Wait, Cas!” Dean called, running out the door behind him. The sun was bright now, blinding Dean temporarily. “Cas!” he called again, but Cas didn’t respond. All he got was the incessant drone of everyday traffic and the flapping of bird’s wings. When his eyes adjusted to the new light, he saw nothing, not even a silhouette. What the fuck?

“Hey, thanks buddy!” Jo stepped up behind him, snatching one of the coffees out of Dean’s grasp. “I wasn’t taking that long you didn’t have to run out in such a huff.” She sipped delicately at her coffee, a noise of content softly escaping into the air. 

“Did you see a man walk by? A little shorter than me, black tousled hair, white shirt?” The street they were standing on while busy was airy. Walkways took up most of the space, the road narrow in contrast to the more pedestrian-friendly sidewalks. Still early in the morning, not many people were up and about, most either still sleeping or already at work. How could one man disappear so fast with nary a trace?

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Why, he didn’t give you his number or something?”

“Just answer the question without your usual sarcasm.” he replied impatiently.

“You’re no fun today. I hope you’re not like this all day.” She sighed, playing with the tab on the lid. “No, I did not see your prince. Remarkably, a lot of guys came in and out of the shop while I was standing around and stupid me forgot my people-creeper book at home. Shucks.”

Again, Dean looked up and down the block, seeing neither a hide nor hair of his friend. There weren’t a lot of side alleys, not any apartment buildings nearby… It was like he just _vanished._ But that was impossible.

“Come on let’s get going.” Jo bumped Dean’s shoulder, walking down the path. 

Filing away ‘Cas the Mystic’ in the back of his mind, Dean tried to focus on the task at hand. It proved to be very difficult; shopping was still boring, and the Hugo Boss store just made him cringe. It didn’t help that all the employees working today were all eyeing him like he was some freak that needed to be either fixed or thrown out. 

Jo buzzed about for the next few hours, throwing things into Dean’s arms and scooting him away into changing rooms, saying yay or nay to everything he tried on. 

Eventually, as the nerves started to set in, he forgot about Cas’ weird little appearance. Time ticked by, and he stayed putting about with Jo until around 4:30 in the afternoon. He had successfully found a suit that didn’t suck too much and sauntered back home to fix himself up, Jo following so she could offer appropriate input. 

“Are you going to tell me who that guy was?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage. 

Dean eyed her through his mirror, his hand paused in mid brush. “What guy?”

“Oh come on, you know perfectly well who I’m talking about.”

Oh he did, but he knew from her tone where she was going with her inquiry. Slowly, he continued pushing the brush through his hair, careful of the conversation he was about to have. “He’s just a friend Jo.”

“He must be some friend to get you looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I don’t look like that.”

Jo huffs out a laugh. “Oh yes you do. You’ve had the same expression on your face ever since we walked out of the café.”

“Drop it.” Why was she having this conversation with him now of all times? Her timing could not be worse. 

“What’s his name?” she inquired sweetly, crossing her legs on top of Dean’s bed. 

He sighed, dropping his hand to the sink to properly glare at his friend. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” It was useless for him to say something like that, but he always hoped one day it would stick. 

Jo widened her eyes, a hand placed over her heart as if she had been stabbed by his words. At Dean’s raised eyebrows, she mimed zipping up her lips and throwing away the key, trying her best to look innocent. He stared at her for a while and she stared back. 

Finally, he sighed, throwing the comb in the sink and turning to lean against it, facing her full force and crossing his arms.“His name is Cas.”

A landscape of wrinkles formed on her brow. “What kind of name is that?”

“Believe me his actual name is even weirder.”

“Oh do tell! I must know,” Jo said, practically bouncing on the mattress, making the springs squeak in protest. Honestly, she was like a twelve-year-old sometimes.

He sighed. “Castiel.” 

The springs stopped squeaking. Jo was still, her eyes bugging out. She didn’t say anything, and as grateful as he was for the silence, after she hadn’t said a word for a good minute, it started to weird him out. 

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Jo shook her head, brown hair flopping over her eyes. “Y-Yeah.” She shook herself, shifting her weight to rock back on her tailbone. “Uhm… wow. That’s uh…”

Uncrossing his arms, Dean pushed off the sink and walked back into his bedroom, watching as Jo continued to squirm on the bed. “What is it?”

“Nothing! Just you know his name is weird but in a cool kind of way and uh- wow look at the time! I should be going, after all you need to get to work and all that jazz.” She leapt off the bed, aiming herself towards the door but not before Dean gently grabbed her arm. She tensed under his touch, other hand flexing. 

“Jo,” he said. “Tell me what’s up.”

She bit her lip, looking at the ground, not meeting his eyes. “It’s just… his name is an angelic one.” Dean waited, not letting go of her arm as she paused. “It’s an angel of Thursday who watches the universe unfold and presides over the death of kings.”

“You’re freaking out because I know a guy who’s named after a winged messenger?”

“It’s not often you hear of someone with that kind of name you know? I mean Raphael and Michael are pretty common but Castiel? Man that guy must be something special.” She shook herself out of Dean’s grip, still not looking up from a point on the ground as she surged forward, grabbing her bag off the coffee table, Dean following her movements. “Look you should get ready. Don’t embarrass yourself in front of the suits okay?”

Before Dean could even open his mouth to say something, she was charging out of his apartment, leaving him to stare at an empty room. What was with everyone today? First Cas stormed off, and now Jo. Was Dean just _that_ offensive? 

~~~~~

The meeting went well he thought. Or at least, he hoped so. After the events of the day, he was surprised he was able to keep everything together and deliver his presentation as effectively as possible. All in all, he thought he deserved a fucking pat on the back. 

After a good few hours of debating amongst themselves, during which Dean waited as patiently as he could, the execs had said they needed a few days to mull it over, which meant Dean had a solid stretch of nothing to do. Stress left his system in one big wave, leaving his body feeling exhausted. He really couldn’t wait to just go home and laze on the couch watching _Star Wars_ while drinking beer. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, marching forward through the park on his way home. This time he stuck to the pavement; it was dark outside, with nothing but the Christmas lights and the street lamps to provide him light and company. Everyone was already tucked away at home, set to sleep the night away, leaving the park empty. 

It was a chilly night, which really wasn’t surprising. Gentle snowflakes drifted down from the sky, and everything was silent; the kind of silence that was ethereal and perfect, that not one of God’s good creatures would dare destroy. Trees were sprinkled with the white; the snow lay virgin before him, all traces of previous footprints gone. Peace and quiet at last.

Now that everything was calm, his thoughts inexplicably turned towards Castiel. He really shouldn’t have been fretting this much over a conversation, especially since he knew he’d done nothing wrong, but something still ate at him. He’d only just met the guy so of _course_ he just _had_ to have such a huge impact on Dean’s stable life. 

It should have annoyed him. It should have freaked him out that someone he hardly knew already had such an impact on him, but it felt right. Damn it all, Dean even embraced the weird that came with Cas. 

Dean continued down the path, passing by the playground and the bench. A gentle squeaking noise floated over to his ears, and Dean turned his head. 

One of the swings was gently swaying, a man hunched over his face hidden in shadow. It looked like he was holding something, but the lighting was too soft and the distance too far to make anything out aside from the hazy outline of a beige trench coat. 

Then the man dug his heels into the sandy snow, stopping the swing. Raising his head, he stood, rising up out of his seat. The man strode over to the bench and put whatever he was holding down onto it. 

Dean waited for the man to leave but he didn’t. He continued to stand by the bench, shoulders hunched, hands falling limply by his sides. Dean started to fidget, debating on whether or not he should leave. The moment felt private.

Snow continued to fall softly, coating his hair, his clothes until the man decided he stayed long enough. Not even bothering to dust himself off, he turned to face where Dean was standing. _Well, shit._ There was no chance the other guy had not seen Dean, so he plastered an awkward smile on his face and nodded his head, realizing a little belatedly that he was too far away for the guy to see anything.

Hanging out with Cas had already impeded his common sense. 

The man just turned around, trench coat swaying as he walked away towards the trees at the other end of the park, leaving whatever he put down on the bench. 

Dean waited for a minute, expecting the man to return, but he didn’t. Curiosity gripped Dean, prompting him to pad through the snow towards the object, cursing as the snow snuck its way inside his shoes.

It wasn’t anything too out there, nothing illegal; it was just a small box wrapped with an elegant ribbon and a note tucked into the bow. Double-checking over his shoulder that the guy wasn’t anywhere near him, Dean read the note and frowned. It was written in some weird script, not a language he’s ever seen before, the writing strangely delicate and symbolic. There was a simple symbol scratched roughly at the bottom of the tag, a small pentagram incased in a circle of fire. Dean was certain he’d seen it before, but he couldn’t be sure. It piqued his interest though, so he mentally catalogued it for later. 

Small black lines crisscrossed through the paper giving it a rough texture. It looked like something had been written on the back and then scratched out. Dean grabbed the box, bringing it up to his face to see it better. Through the lines he could read one word. A name. 

_Dean._

As if his day wasn’t already chalk full of weird. Granted, there could be a lot of Deans out there, but it wasn’t exactly a popular name. And the way that guy had turned toward him… it had felt like he was staring at him, like this was meant for Dean. His fingers itched to unlace the ribbon encircling the box, his heart thudding erratically. 

Another day. 

He pocketed the box hastily, turning on his heel to walk out of the area. He ran a hand through his hair. Fuck, all he had wanted was to end the night with _Star Wars_ or maybe some _Indiana Jones._ Was that too much to ask?

As the cold started to seep into his bones, Dean walked out of the park,

~~~~~

Despite it being relatively late in the day, Dean still felt tired. 

The night had proven to be restless; sleep had evaded him as thoughts circled inside his head, dreams seeping in to cause havoc. More blood coated the walls of his dreams, more screams echoed inside his head, everything turning red before the blue-white light pierced through it all. Again the same words echoed in his mind. _Dean Winchester has been saved._

Weren’t dreams supposed to be erratic? His felt more like a story, all playing out some fucked up fantasy. Having them intermix with his real thoughts did nothing for his exhaustion and woke up more tired than he’d felt the previous day. 

He trundled out of bed at around ten when it became apparent he would not be going back to sleep anytime soon. Grabbing the first outfit he could find, he strode out the door, itching to have a coffee. 

Cas was hanging around at the Buzzing Bean; Dean found him strolling outside the café, leaving just as Dean was arriving. He raised his hand to wave and Cas smiled. Whatever happened the day before was forgotten, and Dean was happy to let it be. Let bygones be bygones.

“How was your presentation?” Cas asked, after they’d greeted each other.

Dean shrugged. “Not really sure, but I think it went well. How was your Latin fiasco?”

Rolling his eyes, Cas scratched his jaw, some stubble starting to sprout along his jawline. As if the guy didn’t look scraggly enough with his hair mussed like he just rolled out of bed. “Not well, but what can you expect out of beginners?”

Dean shook his head slightly. “When will they learn?”

“Evidently not soon enough to avoid a blood bath.”

“….What?” Cas’ lip twitched and Dean chuckled again, shaking his head. “Man you have a weird sense of humour.”

“It’s enough to keep you guessing.” 

Wait hold the phone. Was Cas actually _flirting_ with him? 

“Have you had breakfast?”

If that wasn’t a blatant ask invitation for a date, then Dean was Elvis. “Uh, no.”

“Good. I ask then, that you join me for a …’bite’,” Cas said, using heavy quotations around the last word. 

Instead of calling him out on their misuse however, Dean just chuckled, shaking his head. “What did you have in mind?”

“I happen to know of an establishment that claims to serve the most sensational burgers in the state.”

Dean raised a brow. “Burgers?”

Cas shrugged, his eyes squinting. “What is that common phrase everyone uses…”

“Ugh, dude, I know what you’re going to say and don’t.” Cas tilted his head. _The guy looks like a confused cat when he does that,_ Dean thought and mentally shook himself. “How about we have actual breakfast. Like eggs, hashbrowns, beer...”

“If burgers aren’t a breakfast delicacy, neither is beer.”

“It’s seven pm somewhere,” Dean pointed out.

“True, but how does that effect our decisions at this time in the morning?” Cas inquired.

“Hey Cas?”

“Dean?”

“Quit whining and follow me. I got this.”

Cas opened his mouth but Dean turned on his heel, prompting Cas to make up his mind to either follow or stay alone in the street. 

Dean heard the patter of feet catching up to him not too long after and smirked to himself. If a guy was that desperate to make initial contact, keep making contact and then ask another guy out on a date, chances were, he wouldn’t give up very easily. It seemed to Dean that despite Cas’ social skills, he still followed the same basic rule of infatuation, which was endearing to say the least. 

Dean was really warming up to the guy already. He was awkward, he was down right weird, but he had that charm about him, a sweet innocent aura that made the air around him a bit warmer, and the light a bit brighter. 

Turning down one street onto another, Dean stopped, confused. He looked up at the street sign and back down the street he had walked down. His confusion rose. The street was different. He checked again but no, the street sign and the street behind him were both just as he’d remembered seeing them .Yet the street was not the one he remembered walking down. 

Cas materialized to his left, head tilted. “Something the matter?” He asked. 

“Weren’t we on Fir Street?”

“Yes.” Cas answered hesitantly and Dean gestured up to the sign above their heads.

“But now we’re on Oak Street?”

“Yes.” He repeated, slower.

“But…how?”

“I believe that is what happens when one walks.”

“No I mean-“

“We got from our initial starting point to our destination,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes, pushing past Dean. “Really Dean, are you going to argue semantics or do you want breakfast?”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but shut it quickly when he saw Cas head inside the restaurant Dean had in mind. Shaking his head, he followed the other man into the establishment, his growling stomach reminding him that it still had yet to be fed. 

They were quickly seated, the waitress a bubbling ball of energy as she explained the featured items and took their drink orders. Dean smiled politely to the girl, and she blushed crimson before walking away, giggling. He sighed, running a hand over his face, Cas watching him with soul-searching scrutiny. 

“Does that happen often?”

“Blonde teenage girls getting flustered by me? All too often man.” It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the attention, just that he didn’t want it or need it. 

Cas furrowed his brow, gazing off in her direction, head slightly tilted. “Why?”

“Buddy, have you seen me lately?” Dean replied cockily, gesturing to himself dramatically.

“Obviously I have otherwise I would not be here.” Cas said seriously. Dean wondered if he ever smiled. 

The waitress came back, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. Both Dean and Cas thanked her, and she smiled radiantly, her too-white teeth contrasted by her fake bronze skin. As she was putting the cups down, Dean’s spilled over onto his pants and she covered her mouth in a gasp. 

“I’m so sorry, oh my gosh, I totally didn’t mean to.”

“S’okay,” he said with a grimace, the hot liquid burning his skin. 

The waitress flailed her hands, saying she’d be right back, leaving Dean more than a little annoyed. A napkin was offered to him, and he thanked Cas, seeing his hand covering half his face. Dean dabbed at his pants, occasionally looking up at Cas to see his eyes slowly become brighter. 

“What?”

Cas shrugged, removing his hand from his face. Before he could say anything, the waitress was back with a cloth and she was kneeling beside Dean. Now it was his turn to be flustered. He batted her hands away. 

“I can do it myself thanks.”

“But I made a mess, I should really clean you up. At least that’s what a responsible person would do,” she said, her face becoming redder. 

At the other end of the table, he heard a snort and Cas’ hand was back covering half his face. 

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

He yanked the cloth out of her hand, his jaw clenched. “It’s fine honestly. Accidents happen,” he said, trying to placate her to no avail. 

She leaned back on her heels, fiddling with her fresh French manicure. “I still feel bad. I mean, I’ve worked here like my whole life, I shouldn’t be so klutzy. Especially in front of such a hot guy.” 

Dean stopped mid-action, raising his head to see Cas had gone still, eyes boring holes into the back of the girl’s head. Sure she was pretty- blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders, and her light blue eyes framed by long lashes. 

All the guys probably chased after her, so she didn’t have to fight to get noticed, or to have any guy she wanted in her bed. Back in college, Dean would have been quick to whisk her away back to his place to see how loud she screamed, but that was behind him. Now, he exhaled slowly, preparing himself for the aftershock of rejection from her. 

Gentle warmth enclosed his hand that rested on the table prompting Dean to change the focus of his gaze. Cas’ eyes hadn’t moved, he had one of his soft hands was lying on top of Dean’s, his shoulders back as if in challenge. Dean felt his mouth drop open a bit, and the girl looked up to see their hands interlaced. She opened her mouth, her face screwing itself into a mask of confusion, before understanding lit her eyes. 

“Oh- oh. Oh my gosh, I-“ She stood up, both her hands covering her mouth. “Oh my gosh I’m so, so sorry I-I thought you were…” She fought for words, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she hugged her hands closer to her chest. “Obviously you’re not though. I’m sorry, uhm. The drinks are on the house. And uh… so’s the meal, actually uhm. Yeah.” Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she cleared her throat before pulling out a pad of paper. “S-So! What can I get you two cuties?”

Dean was still staring at Cas, but Cas, cool as a cucmber, ordered two burgers for him and his date. She smiled and took the menus away, saying the meal would be out shortly. Cas watched her leave, his eyes finally drifting over to Dean’s. 

“You have an addiction to burgers or something?”

Cas tilted his head. “Isn’t that your favorite food?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then I fail to see the ‘point’. If you love a certain type of food, why should the time of day affect whether or not you have it?”

There should be a comeback to that, but for the life of him, Dean couldn’t figure out a solid argument. So he pursed his lips and nodded. “Touche” 

Cas didn’t say anything, but his lips twitched in a small smile.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh… Thanks. You know, for the uhm…” He fought for words, using his free hand to twist in the air to help him find the right phrasing. 

Cas raised an eyebrow but nodded in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome.”

Silence fell between the two, Dean pursing his lips. “You can let go now.”

Cas looked down at their hands, tilting his head and then returned to rest his blues on Dean’s greens. “Do you want me to?”

Dean’s reflex response was _yes, let go now,_ but something stopped him. Gazing down at their hands, he couldn’t help but feel a kind of rightness to it. It was such a simple action, but it spoke volumes. It felt like their hands fit together almost perfectly, two long lost pieces finally coming together. Dean felt his mouth go dry. Man this was intense. 

He felt like he could read people quite well, and what he had gathered from Castiel so far was that he was very straightforward with what he wanted, if a bit awkward in how he went about it. In women, this kind of attitude really revved him up, a quality he loved. In guys, Dean had never had a partner who knew what he wanted, or at least one that liked to take the reins, because Dean didn’t give up power that easily.

He was willing to give it to Cas though. 

Someone cleared their throat, and Dean blinked. 

Somehow, both he and Cas had ended up leaning over the table, like invisible strings were pulling them close. Dean licked his lips and leaned back, seeing a flash of defeat in Cas’ eyes as he too leaned back. The waitress smiled gratefully, still a tad red in the face and placed their food in front of them. With one last overly cheerful smile, she told them to enjoy their food and waltzed away. 

Cas let go of his hold on Dean, a sudden coldness filling his fingers where Cas’ had been. Dean curled his fingers into a loose fist, reeling in his hand to pick up his burger and begin chowing down. Cas followed suit. They ate in companionable silence, and Dean enjoyed it. He had a lot to chew over - both physically and metaphorically. 

The first few bites he took though, made his mind reel.

“Oh my god. This is delicious.” He grinned around his mouthful, and Cas gave him a raised eyebrow.

“I made a good call?”

“ _Good_ call? Dude, if my mouth wasn’t full of meat, I’d be kissing you right now.”

“I’ll keep that information for later,” Cas replied, eyes alight with mischief. 

_I should really watch what I say,_ Dean thought, momentarily blanking. He shrugged it off though. _Obviously what the mind wants, it wants. Maybe I should just ride the tide and see where it takes me._

Initial meeting aside- because who wasn’t grumpy in the morning- all Dean had done since he met the guy was flirt with him – yes he could admit now that he was in fact flirting. There was undeniable chemistry between them, and all Dean had been doing was ignoring it, while Cas had been providing the entirety of it. Why not acknowledge it and let it grow?

He felt a soft caress on his nose, snapping him back to reality to see Cas’ finger move away, coated in mustard. “Honestly Dean, for all your supposed adeptness at social situations, your table manners are deplorable.” The coated finger wiggled through space until it plopped into Cas’ mouth. Dean followed its movement, his chewing slowing down. Cas licked his finger slowly, swirling his digit around in his mouth sensually. 

_Well, well, well. He knows what he wants._ Dean swallowed his food, feeling a little stuffy in his jacket. He licked his lips, watching as Cas did the same. 

“How are we doing over here, cuties?” 

Dean practically jumped out of his skin when the waitress appeared out of nowhere, all smiles and obnoxious timing. 

“Everything is great, thank you,” Cas replied as if nothing had just happened between the two of them. 

Maybe nothing had. Dean was running on next to no sleep; he could be living in some sexual fantasy right now. But a wink thrown his way from Cas knocked that notion out of the park and Dean was left feeling tingly. The waitress, oblivious to everything, simply chirped some form of farewell and walked away again. 

The tension broken between Dean and Cas had Dean picking up his burger again. He got through a few bites before Cas piped up, his own meal hardly touched.

“Dean.”

“Hmm?” Dean blinked lazily, dropping his half-finished burger and popping a fry into his mouth.

“Let’s finish our breakfast and go,” Cas said coolly, eyes focused on something in the distance. 

“And here I thought you were enjoying my company.” Dean smirked, dipping another fry into his ketchup and munching on it. 

Cas sighed, blinking back to the present. “I always enjoy the companionship your presence brings, but that waitress is getting on my nerves.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, taking another bite out of his burger. “Why? She’s just doing her job now.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what? Her failed attempts to flirt with me?” Cas gave him a look at that and Dean snorted. “Oh ignore her. I think you benched her pretty good.” 

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what? Your meal sitting untouched?” He scarfed the rest of his burger down, his stomach feeling fuller and happier with food in it. 

Cas paused, sizing Dean up. Dean stared back, feeling something creep up his spine. How the hell Castiel could go from teasing to serious this quickly was beyond him. It was hard to keep up with what was going on inside his head. 

Eventually, he blinked and looked away, grabbing a fry and chewing on it before washing it down with coffee. Dean polished off his fries quickly, starting to mooch off Cas’ plate as the other guy sipped his drink.

“You gonna eat your burger?” Dean asked, stuffing more fries in his mouth. 

Cas watched with interest. “How do you have room for all this food?”

“My legs are hollow.”

Blue eyes widened. “Are they?”

“… It’s an expression, Cas.”

“Oh.” He chugged the rest of his coffee, his expression sheepish. 

Dean smirked at him, finding his innocence endearing. “Seriously though, eat the burger. You’re the one who was whining for one, now eat it, or you’ll be blown away by a gust of wind someday.”

“My body mass is not-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s another expression I’m using to mock your skinny ass. Ha ha, I’m funny, now eat.” 

Cas picked up his burger, properly chastised and began eating. Jeez the guy was going to need a proper lesson in expressions and hyperboles, or else most of their time together will consist of Dean explaining his jokes.

At Dean’s insistence, Cas finished his meal, the waitress magically appearing with another apology and a slice of pie. Dean salivated, but Cas told her to box it up because they had to leave. The smile on her face was as fake as her tan as she walked away with the plate. 

Dean gave Cas an imploring look, which he ignored, watching the girl as she boxed up the pie. Covering his mouth, he fake-coughed, trying to get Cas’ attention, which he steadily ignored. 

The waitress came back posthaste, offering the box to Dean. Reaching out to take it, he was surprised to see it plucked from her hands by Cas, who was standing beside her and giving a menacing glare. She bit her lip and backed away, straightening her short jean skirt. “Okay. Have a great day you two and uh, masel tov.” Giving one last smile, she turned on her heel and walked away.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean asked him as Cas grabbed his shoulder and pulled Dean to his feet. “Relax, man. She meant no harm.” 

Steering him like a boat, Cas guided Dean out of the restaurant with one hand, holding the pie in the other. They exited quickly, the door swinging shut behind them with a _thud_ and Dean brushed Cas’ hand off, turning round to face him. 

“What the hell man?” he repeated. Cas ignored him, pulling out his cell while mumbling gibberish. “Are you going to ignore me or tell me what’s going on?”

“I knew I recognized her - I just didn’t know where from.”

“Who? The waitress?” 

Cas nodded, turning his back to Dean and stepped away. Dean sighed, crossing his arms. He felt a lot like a ditchable prom date right now, and he was not enjoying it one bit. _At least this is the most interesting date you’ve ever been on._

It sure was one weird roller-coaster of emotion, and they hadn’t even sat down at the table for longer than- Dean checked his watch- holy shit, three hours? Time really flew when one was having fun. 

After a brief exchange, Castiel shut his phone and breathed out a sigh of relief, turning back to face Dean. He looked less rigid and panicked as he pocketed his phone. Dean waited for him to explain what had happened but Cas just stared at him. 

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

Dean facepalmed. “What was that business with the cell phone and the super-secret call?”

Cas’ pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “That waitress we had today was someone with a ‘bad rap’ as you might say.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Cas explained, “she’s not the sweet innocent soul she was pretending to be.”

Dean snorted. “You telling me she’s secretly Hannibal?”

“I don’t believe she crossed the Alps recently, no. But she is known for her desire for men of certain tastes.”

“So she kidnaps handsome men such as myself, and kills them?”

Cas nodded. “Your prognosis skims over the finer details, but essentially yes.”

“I thought you were a teacher.”

Cas bristled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I teach a variety of classes, for I have extensive knowledge in multiple areas.”

“So what you’re telling me is you’re a dork of many colours?”

Cas chuckled, tension released from his body as quickly as it came. “Well-put.”

Dean shrugged. “I pride myself on my sharp tongue.”

“I bet you do.”

_And back to flirting._ The seamless transition from one emotion to another was leaving Dean’s tired mind feeling even more exhausted from trying to keep up. He was definitely going to need more sleep before he hung around with Cas again. 

Raising an arm to gesture down the street, Cas gave Dean a look. “Where to next?”

~~~~~~

That single day passed fast, time slipping through Dean’s fingers like sand. And like the sand on the beach, the days with Cas never ended.

What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned quickly into a successive train of events that led to the two of them hanging out for days at a time. Everything flowed easily between them, which surprised Dean. He'd never clicked with anyone aside from Jo but they grew up together so they were practically family. Even talking to Ed at times, though Dean greatly appreciated his company, was extremely grating. 

With Castiel there were no awkward breaks in conversation, wondering what to say next and who would say it, or wondering if any topics were out of bounds. Anything and everything was included; no boundaries and no awkwardness. 

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned into months. The snow melted fast with the oncoming spring and birds emerged from their dwellings, happy to announce the change of seasons. The steady progression of their friendship changed as well- they’d never put a label on it, but Dean supposed they had been dating from day one. 

Even though he didn't know how dating long term worked - having only one pathetic relationship as a basis for comparison - Dean thought he'd be terrible at the whole couple-y thing. Yet he found that with Cas, everything was easy; just like riding a bicycle. He even said so to Cas, who only cocked his head, proclaiming that he had no frame of reference for the metaphor since he didn't know how to ride one. No matter how puffed up Cas got trying to defend himself for why he never had such a skill, Dean just laughed, insisting he had to learn. 

Which was how Dean ended up teaching Cas how to ride one, since no excuse Cas gave could convince Dean he did not need it. 

"Dean, this is really unnecessary. I've been getting around fine without the use of two wheels and an axle," Castiel complained as Dean dusted off the bike he had found loitering uselessly in Jo's garage (she wasn't the only one who had snaked an extra key for personal use.)

"It's not about getting from one point to another," Dean explained, standing up while dusting off his hands. "I don't think skiing is really necessary either. Or snowboarding, but people do it because it's about having fun. Going out and being social, you know."

"I don't know how to do those either," Cas grumbled, making Dean shake his head in disbelief. 

"We're adding those to the list," Dean declared as Castiel huffed in irritation. 

"Dean, I really don't-"

"Enough, Cas. It's not a question of need. For Christ's sake man, all these activities are for fun. _Fun._ You remember fun, right, Cas? It's what you didn't have as a child, apparently. Now shut your pie hole and get on the bike, or no candy for you." 

Castiel fidgeted nervously, twining his fingers together to twiddle his thumbs. It took some coaxing and a lot of promises, but eventually, Cas got on the bike. It made for an interesting scene; a grown man learning how to ride, while his boyfriend held onto the seat for stability like a father would for a daughter. Needless to say, they attracted a lot of attention, most of it harmless but all of it unwanted. 

Through many trials ending in failure, the two called it a day after Cas almost flipped over his handlebars into oncoming traffic. Carrying a myriad of scrapes and bruises as trophies, and despite the almost fatal accident, Castiel admitted that Dean was right- riding a bike was insanely fun. 

Dean laughed as he cleaned up some of Cas' battle scars, but paused before really beginning because Cas scooped up his chin with his hand. Being his guide, he brought Dean up to his face. Warm, soft lips found his in a gentle embrace, igniting Dean down to his toes.

He’d never had an experience like this, but saying he was inexperienced was like saying the sky was made of wax. Dean had had more than his fair share of lovers, and he’d learned a few tricks to make his partners purr with passion. 

With Cas, as always, everything was a first. Dean, usually eager to take the lead, felt his mouth go pliant under Cas' rose-soft lips. 

First kisses were never how the movies described them, never mind what those horrid Nickolas Sparks novels that Jo read and Dean secretly stole wanted people to believe. Not till now. As cheesy as he felt admitting it to himself later, Dean swore he felt what everyone dreamed of feeling in that second; loved for and cared for beyond the human condition for just what he was. He knew Cas could feel it too, from the way his mouth shaped around his.

"Thank you," Cas said when the two finally broke apart. 

Head still in the clouds, not willing to come down, Dean thought he nodded in acknowledgment but for all he knew it could've been a twitch in his neck. 

Cas healed abnormally fast. By the time the next day rolled around, the cuts were gone and he was ready for round two, mounting the bike with little hesitation. He picked up on the motions quick, just like Dean knew he would and soon Dean had to run to keep up with Cas. 

They had to call it quits not long after when Dean's huffing became worrisome. To remedy this, they went for ice cream to cool themselves off. Of course, Cas got more than he bargained for when Dean stuck the cone in his face. Laughing hysterically, Dean tried to get away, but he couldn't escape the trench-coated justice that was Castiel. Sufficiently smeared with ice cream, the two walked home, happy as clams, fingers intertwined and shoulders bumping with affection.

After that, they started a list of things that they could try together. While compiling the list, Dean was astounded to see how much Cas had missed out in life, and at what apparently he himself had been missing out on too. His suggestions for activities were more physically based, while Cas took pleasure in the simpler things. When he asked Cas why he didn't partake in the great outdoors, he shrugged and gave some excuse of always being busy. 

"Even when you were a kid?" Dean asked. 

"My Father was never around, and my brothers were less than cordial towards me, especially later on," Cas answered.

"What, was your dad too busy to do anything for his kids?"

"Apparently. And he still is if memory serves. Not one of my siblings has heard from him in longer than they can remember. In fact..." Cas paused, biting his lip. 

"You think he doesn't give a shit about you guys and is vacationing somewhere in Barbados," Dean finished, understanding what Cas was feeling. While his own father was around, unlike Cas' douchebag one, he had never felt close to him. Especially after Dean came out of the bisexual closet. Being a closed-minded bigot was a thing of the past, but there were still few such as Dean's dad who clung to the extremely old ways, believing that being anything other than heterosexual was wrong. 

"And your siblings just turned tail and ditched you?"

Cas chewed it over in his head, picking his words with care. "Not exactly. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. They were more interested in following my eldest brother Michael. They weren't ones to ah, think independently, always needing guidance. Father did leave some instructions when he left, and we obeyed him."

"Just like that? Even though he wasn't around to take care of you? What kind of douchebag does that?" Castiel didn't say anything, just jotted down some activities in silence. "Where's your Mom in all this?"

"I never had one."

That discussion was never revisited, the two of them silently agreeing to make up for lost time instead of dwelling on what could have been. 

Despite what the execs had said in their meeting, they never got back to Dean. Annoyed about not having a definitive answer, Dean approached Ed, who was just as confused as he was. 

“Look, I don’t know what they are thinking, but just, give it time, man,” Ed explained, shuffling papers at his desk. 

Dean ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed. “Great. Just fucking great. And what exactly am I supposed to do in the meantime?” He snapped.

Ed shrugged his shoulders up, hands splaying out. “I don’t know, join someone else’s project group. Keep yourself occupied because who knows how long it’s gonna be till they come to a decision? Could be days, could be months. Just do something productive.

“If you sit and stew, you’re gonna worry about what is happening up at the top of the corporate ladder.”

Dean had sighed in frustration, storming out of Ed’s office feeling completely unsatisfied. 

The projects he started working on were relatively straight-forward – nothing like what he had planned for the Impala- so he found himself going home earlier than usual and spending his free time with Cas. 

Even his dreams had stopped bothering him, though they continued to cause irregularities in his sleep schedule. 

They had tapered off to more benign story lines; still structured around the same basic principle but now they were more upbeat, less dramatic and disturbing. One of them featured himself dying thousands of times in a Groundhog Day style, which despite its strange undertone, he found downright hilarious. Although he found he couldn't listen to his ringtone anymore. Once in a while, he would get one dream that felt rough around edges, but most often, they changed tempo fast, like someone skipping over a recording on a VCR. 

All in all, Dean could safely say he was feeling better about but when months passed with no word from Ed about his project, Dean started to worry. 

The execs apparently never got back to Ed, and feeling paranoid despite Cas' reassurances, Dean started pestering his boss for answers. 

At first, Ed would shake his head saying that projects this massive needed time, and they had to figure out how they could swing it. With technology advancing as fast as it was in this day and age, a lot of projects keep rearing their heads, each one demanding a thorough investigation. Unsatisfied with his answer, Dean would not stop dropping by Ed's office. It became a regular occurrence; so much so that Ed would sometimes have baked goods waiting on his desk for Dean. 

Dean was waiting for Ed to cave as he usually did when pestered too much, but he remained strong, always providing the same answer. 

During one of their weekly activities, Dean started whining about work. Castiel, always patient with Dean, merely nodded his head as they wandered about the bee farm, collecting small honeycombs. Cooking was a hobby shared by both of them, though routinely, Dean was told by the other man that he was better than Cas could ever hope to be. 

When Dean couldn't think of anything else to add, he asked "Well?"

Castiel looked up from the honeycomb he was inspecting. "Well what?"

"Do you have anything to add?"

"Nothing that would be useful."

Dean huffed. "Really. The man who has an opinion about everything under the sun, has no advice for little ol' me?"

Putting the comb in the basket, Cas turned to face Dean. "What can I say? Besides what you have already done, there is nothing more you can do."

"There has to be-"

"Dean," Cas interjected, "there isn't. Right now you have to exercise your patience considering it is very underworked right now." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean crossed his arms. 

"Exactly what it seems to mean. You're too rushed, too impatient. To an extent, I can understand your frustration, and I'm sure your eagerness can be viewed as a desirable trait. However, there comes a point when it becomes too much. For the managers and CEOs, they want someone who can show versatility as well as willingness to step back when it is necessary."

Dean snatched a honeycomb from Cas, sniffing it before chomping down. "Y'know. Most unlucky bastards have to pay time and money for someone to give them that kind of advice."

"I'll take that as a complement."

He waited. And waited. Dean stopped nattering at Ed, choosing instead to research other possible projects should his Impala fail. No ideas sprang out at him though as he continually scrolled through the Internet, trying to ignite his creative fire. 

Spring became summer, most respective employees or managers disappearing for a mostly well-earned vacation. Castiel's advice paid off. As Dean was debating with a colleague on the importance of old-style record players, Ed knocked on his office door. 

"Ed?" Dean straightened in his chair, forcing his coworker to turn and face Ed as well. 

The boss smiled awkwardly, waving his hand in a semblance of a greeting. "Hey, sorry Carlos, I just need to speak to Dean for a sec."

Carlos, not as close or as comfortable with Ed as Dean was, quickly bowed out with nary a word. 

"This better be good, man. I was about to win that argument."

Ed smiled his small, timid smile, shuffling to sit across from Dean. "Yeah, actually. Well, sort of."

"Go on," Dean encouraged. Ed sucked in his bottom lip, puffing up his chest to prepare himself. 

"I've been asked to talk to the big boys. They want my opinion on your project."

Dean felt his jaw drop slightly. "Really? Awesome. That means I'm pretty much a shoo-in."

"If they actually listen to me, but yeah. You're gonna be able to make your dream car Dean!"

Dean, unable to help himself, got up and pulled Ed out of his seat, grasping him in a rare, huggy-bear Dean Smith hug. Not used to such displays of affection, Ed was stiff, but when Dean released him, he saw that the other man was smiling huge. "When do you speak to them?"

"Tomorrow. Bright and early, so take the day off, or go do something. Isn't that rock concert coming up?"

Curious, Dean checked his calendar. "Yeah in a week and a bit. Did you wanna come?"

Ed shook his head. "No man, I think you should take someone who appreciates that kind of thing. Crowds..." He shuddered, sticking out his tongue. Dean smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. He had the perfect man in mind. 

After Ed left, Dean pulled out his phone and quickly called Cas to tell him the good news. "Perfect. Then you can stop moping about in the apartment."

"I don't mope," Dean said defensively, earning a scoff of disbelief from Cas. "Okay fine, maybe I was a little." 

"The dent on the couch suggests that it was more than 'a little'."

"Ha-fucking-ha, Cas." 

Cas chuckled, a low scratchy sound. "I believe this good news requires a celebration of sorts, correct?" he asked, the sound of papers shuffling replacing the chuckles. 

"Duh. How ‘bout swinging by my place for a drink or two?" Dean lowered his voice to accentuate the hidden message. He forgot that subtlety was not Cas' forte. 

"That's not what I had in mind."

While it wasn't Cas' fault for not picking up on what Dean actually meant, it still stung hot as any rejection. Squishing it down, Dean cleared his throat. In the past, he'd been dropping hints like crazy, more than ready to add that little extra spice to their relationship, but Cas ignored all his sexually suggestive comments. Not sure if it was because Cas didn't want that, or he was mentally incapable of picking up that Dean wanted sex, he never said it outright. 

Normally, he'd be all over his partner, rocking the walls in his apartment until the neighbours banged on his door, asking him to quiet down. But he didn't want to mess anything up with Cas. 

"We'll I'll bite. What's the plan Stan?"

"It's a surprise." Bless Cas for finally recognizing a saying when Dean used one. "Just wait for me at your place."

"Am I finally seeing your sweet pad?"

Cas huffed and refused to answer. "I'll see you tonight," he said, voice full of affection. The two gave their goodbyes, Dean wondering what he was going to do between now and tonight. 

Not wanting to stick around the office for much longer, Dean picked up his keys and headed down to the parkade. Giving a small wave to a few random employees, Dean sauntered over to the elevator, nose buried in his antique phone. 

It had been a few days since Jo had texted him, but then he had never replied to her, busy as he was hanging with Castiel and not doing work. When the elevator dinged to signify its arrival, Dean quickly glanced up and meandered in, clicking the button, without paying attention to who was with him in the small space. 

"Do I know you?"

_Damn, my sex appeal must have reached critical levels since dating Cas._ Hearing a line similar to this all too often, Dean didn't bother looking up from his phone. "No, I don't think so pal."

Still sensing the guy was looking at him, Dean typed away on his phone, trying to politely tell the other to back off. 

"I'm sorry, you just look really familiar."

"Save it for the health club," Dean retorted, happy to hear the enthusiastic ding of an elevator arriving. He stepped out, eager to do nothing with his day but shower and laze around the apartment. 

Just then, his phone rang. Checking the display, he flipped open the phone. "Yeah."

"Dean."

His brow came down, concerned about her tone. "Jo? You okay?"

A snuffle. "Yeah, sorta." A pause as Dean gave a silent 'as if' face. "Okay, maybe not."

"What happened?"

"It's my granddad. He's… he’s not doing so hot right now."

Dean didn't know what to say. His extended family was distant, their faces indistinguishable in a crowd, as was Jo's. Her grandfather had always communicated with her though, and through her with Dean. Jo had talked about him enough that he had started to see him as a quasi-grandparent, always with him in spirit even if he didn't know it. 

"You wanna grab a bite? There's a good pie place just around the corner."

Jo, despite drowning on the inside in her own unshed tears, huffed. "There’s the Dean I know. Always thinking about pie."

He shrugged as if to say 'what can you do' and wrapped a brotherly arm over Jo's shoulder. She didn't say anything, just let herself be pulled into his side as the two started to wander down the street. "Hey, I know you like pie and all, but can we just ... go back to your place? I kinda just wanna sit on the couch and feel fat."

"It's your call," he answered, feeling another sting of rejection. One of these days he'll get his pie. With a quick change of direction, Jo and Dean ended up walking back to his apartment. 

Never having faced a family crisis, and not as good at handling emotional problems as Jo was, Dean wasn't sure what to do to help. When he had to deal with relationship problems, he always went to levelheaded Jo. She was a rock when it came to emotional stability. It could've been she was like this way because of the way she was brought up. Her family wasn't a typical all-American, apple-pie type family. Most girls get cars for their sweet sixteen not a 12-gauge rifle and military uniform. 

Needless to say, when Dean had a problem, he always turned to his pseudo-sister. She never talked about her own issues much, and when she did, she always managed to shrug it off like it was nothing, but now, she really needed him. And he didn't know what to do.

His thoughts immediately turned to Dean Winchester, the man of his own making. From what he had unconsciously created, Winchester was someone who dealt with an excessive amount of death. Maybe if Dean Smith could channel that into the here and now, he would be more equipped to help Jo.

Then again the fellow wasn't exactly gold star material when it came to dealing with anything. Most of them time, he just drowned his sorrows in his friends Jack and Morgan. Perhaps a good social drink would help. Not enough to get blond drunk, but just enough to help lighten the spirits.

When Dean unlocked his door, Jo shuffled over to the couch by the window, throwing herself onto it. Dean slipped into his bedroom and grabbed his blanket off the bed. He heard something fall but paid it no mind; he'd just pick it up later. 

Throwing the blanket over Jo so she could feel comfortable, Dean went back into the kitchen. 

"What do you feel like watching?" he asked as he riffled through his liquor cabinet. Jo peeked out from over the fuzzy blankets. 

"Got any of the good scotch?"

"No, you drank the last of it last time you were here. You said you'd replace it, remember?" 

Pulling the blanket over her head, Jo retorted, "Yeah well, if you weren't so busy with that Cas fellow I might've remembered."

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. Unfortunately, she was right. He had been spending a lot of time with his newly acquired boy-toy. Not used to being in a long-term relationship, he found it hard to balance his love life with his social one. Logically, the two should’ve gone hand in hand-after all didn't social conventions dictate that the friends had to approve of the beaux before things got too serious? 

Yet he didn’t think it was a good idea for Jo and Cas to meet either. It wasn’t like Dean was going to get serious with the guy anytime soon after all.

"Oh no you don't, this is so not about me." Dean said, grabbing two large stemmed glasses. 

The glasses clinked as he set them down on the counter, prompting Jo to peek out from her hiding place. She watched as his hands made quick work of filling the glasses with forget-what's-up-juice. 

Careful not to spill on his just-washed floors, Dean crossed over to the couch, passing one glass to Jo before settling himself onto its spongy surface. It dipped under his weight, Jo's small form falling into his shoulder though whether the couch or Jo's sporadic need for comfort was actually to blame, Dean couldn't decide. He switched the glass to his other hand, opting to lay the first on Jo's shoulder, pulling her close so she could comfortably snuggle against his chest. 

"Thanks for this, Dean," Jo said, softly. 

Dean sipped from his glass. "Just start something." 

Not much conversation was needed after the initial bit, the television providing a perfect substitute. They were silent, happy to watch the exuberant actors dance and prance around on Dean's monster screen. Occasionally, Dean would throw a comment at the screen, something quick-witted and sometimes funny. By the time Jo finished her first drink and started her second one, her cheeks were red, eyes alight with a bit more mischief and she was joining Dean in his ridiculous antics. 

Time flew by fast, until Dean happened to look at his watch and saw that Cas was going to be at his door in less than an hour. "Shit!" he exclaimed suddenly, jolting Jo away from her comfy spot. Throwing off the cover he had snuck under, Dean got up off his feet and ran to his room, kicking something on the ground. Not paying much attention, he quickly stripped and got in the shower. 

"Deeaaaan? What's your damage?" Jo inquired at him, voice well above the appropriate inside volume.

Shutting his bathroom door, Dean twisted the shower knob on as hot as it would go, stripping fast. "I got a date tonight!"

Fabric shuffled across the floor as Jo, mildly tipsy, made her way to Dean's room. "Awwww with that Cassie fellow?"

"Yes, with that one." 

"I should meet 'im,” Jo called to Dean, the door muffling her voice. "I mean, as your unofficial official sister, he has to meet my approval."

Dean didn't hear much after that as he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the smell of alcohol and grime. While working in an office was not as grimy as working in the garage, Dean still felt greasy by association. 

Besides, Cas had hinted at something special. Which meant Dean had to scrub up.

It wasn't a long shower, just a quick shampoo, rinse and condition so Dean could smell and feel his best. He didn't even have time to run through his karaoke in the shower, something he always did to get ready. 

Humming under his breath, he stepped out into the steam bath that was now his bathroom. He continued to go about the ritual of getting ready until he realized that he had a huge stain on his pants. Tutting to himself, he grabbed his bathrobe off the back of the bathroom door and stepped into his bedroom, where Jo was lying on his bed, turning something over in her hands.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked as he waltzed by straight to his closet. 

"I was hoping you could tell me. Did Lover Boy give this to you?"

Dean turned to face her, surprised to see a small box in her hand. Certain he hadn’t seen it before, he grabbed it out of her hands, turning the card that stuck out over to see his name written on it. On the other side were the weird scrawls he remembered seeing before. 

It was the box he had grabbed from the park.

"I don't know what this is actually. Someone just left it on my desk," he lied with a partial shrug. Up till now, he had completely forgotten about the mysterious box, his mind too preoccupied with everything else that had been going on. Now that it was back in the front of his mind, his curiosity itched.

"Really? That's weird."

Dean twitched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Well, your name is on there, plus the Enochian on the back-"

"The what now?" 

"Enochian. It's the language of the angels, used sometimes by man for holy tasks," Jo answered waving one hand as though dismissing the practical applications, "but for this.... it's some kind of poem."

"A poem." Jo nodded. "In the language of the angels." Jo nodded again, eyes bright. "What does it say?"

She shrugged, a weird thing to see when one was lying down. "I'm not fluent, but it's a love poem about a man lost, looking for a reason to believe in God."

"And you think this is about me?" 

She ignored that, instead asking if he was going to open it. Sitting up on the bed while still wrapped in his covers like they were a makeshift cocoon, Jo gave him her patent curious kitten stare. He sat down beside her, unsure if he should as she held the box out for him to take. On the one hand it was someone else's property- someone who happened to have the same name as him, with a weird foreign poem about love on the back. Seeing that Dean wasn't jumping at the opportunity, she grabbed one of his hands and flipped it palm side up, plopping the box into it. It was wrong though, so wrong....

The ribbon was ripped off before he could change his mind. Hands shaking, he lifted the lid. Inside was an item he swore he'd seen before but the where and when was not coming to him. Placing the lid on the bed, he picked up the black leather necklace inside, the golden idol head swaying. He heard Jo's intake of breath and saw that her mouth had dropped into a comical 'o' shape.

"Do you know what this is?"

Jo's eyes darted to him, saw his expression and clamped her mouth shut. "Nope." Dean gave her a hard stare and she pursed her lips. "Okay I kinda do, but it's more of a superstition."

"I believe you were the one who told me that superstition is just a lazy man's way of dismissing what he doesn't understand."

"That does sound like something I'd say."

"Jo..."

She ran a hand through her hair. "It's an amulet that burns hot in God's presence."

Dean looked at her over his nose. "You kidding me. The big G man? The legit _God_?"

One shoulder was raised in a half-committed shrug. "That's what my witchcraft and amulet course says."

Dean plopped the necklace into his palm, bringing it in close so he could properly study it. The amulet wasn't a very intricate design. For something that was supposed to track down God, he expected it to be more ostentatious. Not a small head with a long face, small swirls accentuating it, eyes closed. It almost looked serene. Dean liked it. 

The leather string slipped easily over his head, the amulet falling to rest in the centre of his chest. The grey shirt he decided to wear contrasted nicely with the necklace, making Dean smile. 

"It suits you," Jo commented softly. Dean looked up to see her staring at it with mixed feelings. 

"You sure you don't want it?" He forced the words out of his mouth, but he knew that look. It was one she wore whenever they passed a new-age store or a street vendor. She wanted this he knew, and to at least offer it to her was courteous.

To Dean's relief, she shook her head. "No way, man. That's for you, not me." She nudged him with her foot. "Go see."

Bed creaking, he got up and trekked back to the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror.

Dean Winchester looked back at him. 

Dean Smith felt his eyes widen, his jaw clamp shut. He almost didn't notice Winchester, almost dismissed him as nothing, but the eyes... They were beaten and broken, the light long extinguished inside the unfathomable darkness that had consumed him. 

Smith watched as his 'reflection' looked down, his eyes tracking down until they stopped at mid-chest. Following the example of his mirror image, Dean Smith was drawn to the necklace once again. Except he didn't see it on himself; he saw it on Winchester.

Winchester raised the corner of his blood-red lips and Smith swallowed hard. He blinked once, and the light was back, Winchester gone with only his own reflection looking back at him.

"You okay in there?"

Dean cleared his throat, brushing off whatever just happened. "Y-yeah. Yeah I'm fine." Except he wasn’t. Not only was the box addressed to him but also he'd seen the necklace before. He had dreamt about the very fucking thing he was now wearing around his neck. Dean had never been one to believe in fate or destiny or whatever it was called. But now, he was wondering if he could be wrong. It couldn't all be coincidence. 

"You sure? Because I hear knocking at the door, and last I checked you still weren't wearing pants."

_Calm your shit. You're just tired,_ he reasoned with himself. It had been a long day already. He just needed to spend time with Cas to decompress from all the emotion of today, and he'd be fine. 

The mirror looked wrong to him, distorted. He opened the cabinet it was attached to, turning the mirror so it faced the wall behind it. Much better. Not wanting to keep Cas waiting, he hurried out of the bathroom, into his closet and pulled out the first pair of pants his hands landed on, slipping them on quickly. Now out of the confined space, he could hear the strange knocking pattern Cas liked to use as his identifier. 

"Dude come on, never keep a gentleman waiting." Jo teased from her comfy position. She was grinning, but seeing Dean's face, her smile fell. "Dear lord you look like you've seen a ghost." Unraveling herself, she got up out of bed and ran to the door. "Look, do what you got to do to get your date face on, I'll chat with Castiel 'Kay? Actually no. That's not a question." Grabbing the brass knob, she shut the bedroom door before Dean could object. Not that his brain was functioning at its highest capacity. 

_Come on man,_ he scolded himself. Things had been going great -no, wonderful- with Cas. Now was not the time to fuck things up because some stupid necklace and some stupid reflection showed up in his life. He wrapped a hand around the golden idol, ready to tear it off. White-knuckling the string, he pulled it taught but stopped from tearing it. 

Despite everything, it felt wrong to toss it away, like he was tossing away a small part of him. Something had caused this necklace to come into his possession. Fate, destiny, chance, a white rabbit.... It had to have meaning, like everything else that Dean had experienced in his life. 

Dean dropped his hand, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his jeans. 

He filled his lungs before puffing out all the air within. Seeing his favourite black boots, he stuffed them hastily onto his feet. With a quick ruffle of his hair, and smack of his cheeks, he declared himself ready.

Opening his bedroom door, he saw Jo and Cas sitting at his dinner table, a cup of coffee in each of their hands. Hearing the door open, Cas lifted his gaze from the girl sitting with her back to Dean and smiled. "I brought you coffee," he said as he stood up, grabbing the third cup on the table. Warmth spread over his fingers and his heart as he took the offered cup from Cas.

"Thanks babe," he said. As his reward, Dean gave him a peck on the mouth, tasting the coffee without drinking from his cup. 

"Ew gross," Jo commented, having turned around in her seat. "You're one of _those_ couples aren't you?"

Cas tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"You know, the 'oh look how cute we are we're gonna broadcast our grossly undying love for each other by not keeping our hands in our own pants' couples."

Opening his mouth, Castiel looked ready to respond but Dean jumped in before he could by wrapping an arm around his waist, hooking his thumb through one of his belt loops and pulling him closer. "You're right. Look at this handsome face. Who wouldn't want to be constantly attached to that?" 

"Okay that's my cue to leave," Jo shot up out of her seat, grabbing her coffee from the table. "Thanks Castiel for the java. Dean, you behave!" 

The door was left open, so she ran out without a second glance. Dean rolled his eyes and closed the door behind her, smiling to himself. 

"What was that for?" Cas asked, confused and irritated. 

"I had to get rid of her or she'd be around all day. Bringing her that coffee didn't help either," Dean remarked. "How'd you know she was here anyways?"

"I didn't. The lady behind the counter gave me an extra coffee with numbers scribbled on the side."

Dean blinked. "You telling me the barista gave you her number?"

"Is that what happened?"

He pressed his lips together, fighting down a smirk. Laughter bubbled inside his throat but he hid it behind a cough. Castiel was so cute when he was ignorant. "Well she might be a tad disappointed when you never call her up for a quickie, but you're spoken for anyways." 

Castiel's face melted to affection as Dean gently cupped his chin, giving him a more thorough kiss now that Jo was gone. Cas deepened the kiss, pressing his chest to Dean's but pulled away before it could get more heated. Dean, giving his best and cutest pout he could manage, felt his other half's fingers ghost down to the mid of his chest. He looked down to see them resting on the amulet. 

"Where'd you get this," Cas asked quietly, his head tilted down, black eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

Was that panic he heard in Cas' voice? Jealousy? Accusation? "Jo gave it to me," he lied, glad that Jo had disappeared before she could call him out on it. Cas nodded slowly, his thumb stroking the amulet once, before he dropped his hand to rest it on Dean's waist. After a moment, he looked up, his face soft. "It suits you."

Something was off with his expression, but Dean couldn't place what. Before he could ponder this further, Cas gave him another quick kiss. "Drink your coffee before we go. They won't allow outside food or drinks." He moved away, picking up his cup off the table. Dean raised an eyebrow. 

"Who’s they?"

 

"Oh, you are kidding me."

"I'm definitely not 'kidding' you."

"How did you know-"

"I pay attention, even when you think I don’t. Really, how many pictures of medieval origin could you possibly possess?"

"Collecting is one thing, Cas. Getting all this out of that is Sherlock level deduction."

"I'll take that as a thank you."

Oh it was. It was a thank you, a hug, a kiss and a fanboy dance all rolled into one- except Dean would never do that because how lame was that? Feeling the garment with one hand, Dean felt a giddiness take hold of him. 

He had never mentioned his want to LARP to anyone before, not even Jo, because he felt it brought out a side of him he didn't want others to know. Sure he had one or two or five medieval trinkets lying around- a cup here, a wall mount there, a helmet shaped trash can under the sink - but actually LARPing was a different story. Often, he heard others laugh at the people who were brave enough to do it, and Dean didn't want to be ridiculed for what he loved. 

As usual, Cas was pulling him out of his comfort zone, and Dean couldn't help but feel grateful. He saw Castiel smile as Dean disappeared into a tent to change. Shrugging on the beige tunic, leather bracers and fake chain mail, plus a wooden sword strapped to his belt, he declared himself ready for battle. The outfit looked almost perfect. 

Looking around, Dean tried to see if there was anything else he could add; a shield, a quiver, a wig… but nothing could be found in the small space, so he shrugged and decided he’d try again another time. 

Stepping out of his tent, Dean looked around, scanning for Castiel. He felt his eyes pop out of his skull. 

_Well that’s just not fair._

“Nice threads, Legolas,” Dean commented, hoping to come off as nonchalant. 

With the fantasy medieval garbs on, Cas looked like a dark haired Legolas, complete with bow and surly attitude. It was Dean’s fantasy- his boyfriend dressed in so many badass layers just waiting to be peeled off, one by one. _Easy now, tiger,_ Dean chastised himself, biting the inside of his lip. His libido would have to wait. 

Ever ignorant to pop culture references, Cas didn’t bother to ask where it came from, instead opting to give a dramatic eye roll, coupled with a faint blush. “I could say the same to you, Dean.”

“I do look pretty hot don’t I?”

“Not quite the vernacular I’d use, but yes, you do.”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Dean rubbed the back of his neck, heat rising to his cheeks. Was this really happening? First he was dressed in LARP gear, and now he was blushing like a schoolgirl with a massive crush? He just couldn’t keep it together tonight apparently. 

Wrapping his hand around Dean’s bicep, Cas lead him toward the main event. The park was lit up with enough lights to make it feel like the sun was still up and shining. Tents were pitched everywhere, all red because they were the warriors of the Moon. The other teams were stationed on different corners of the park, their tents hidden from view. Banners were strung everywhere, along with a picture of a hot redheaded chick.

“What’s the occasion?” Dean asked as the two meandered around the campsite, elves and mages mingling in character. A lot of eyes followed the movements of Dean and Cas, more so the men than the ladies, which Dean was not used to. 

“It’s the Battle of Moons to decide who will wear the Forever Crown. We are to defend the Queen.”

“Yeah I get that, but the Queen’s dead isn’t she? It said so on the banners at the front.”

Castiel nodded solemnly, blue eyes drifting out of Dean’s line of sight. “You are correct, but the people honour her presence. No one was a queen like her; those who tried to take her place after she left were dismal failures at best. They lost battle after battle, their ranks dwindled… it was a dark time.”

“Sounds like you’ve been roleplaying for a while Cas.”

Giving Dean a side look, Castiel continued. “The people rallied and decided to never crown another queen, instead opting to celebrate the one who brought them all together and won the Crown.”

Dean whistled. “Sounds like a lot of consideration for someone who’s been dead for half a decade.”

“You’d understand if you met her, Dean.”

“You met her?”

“Of course,” Cas replied, stopping in his tracks as he saw someone approaching.

“Sir, I have gathered all the captains and colonels. They await for your wise words,” he called as he approached. Castiel switched to role-play mode, straightening his spine and rolling his shoulders back. Even though the motions were simple, the effect was staggering; he went from an ordinary man to the general of an army and _damn_ he looked good.

“Then they shall have to wait longer,” Castiel replied, resting a hand on his fake sword. “I must acquaint my new lieutenant general with his role.”

“Him?” The RPer inquired, sticking his finger in Dean’s face. The man gave Castiel his full attention, his brown eyes wide. “But General, this man is a newcomer. He cannot be trusted! For all we know he could be a spy for the Warriors of YesterYear!”

Dean batted the finger out of his face, more than annoyed with this guy. “I understand your misgivings, Captain, but you speak out of place,” Castiel said, hinting at the man to take a hike. 

The man appraised Cas, brow furrowing. “Forgive me sir, but my interest is in the company. I will not allow some mudkip to come up and disrupt the order-“

Dean had heard enough. With an exasperated exhale, Dean pulled out his sword, sticking it under the guy’s chin. “The General has spoken, Frodo. Now go.”

“Dean…” Cas warned in a low tone, yet made no move to intercede. 

The man huffed hand opening and clenching by his side. “My name is Grae”

“A bleak colour for your bleak personality, how fitting. Now beat it.” 

“Not until you prove yourself,” Grae challenged, brown eyes piercing into Dean. “I challenge you for the right to be the General’s right hand!”

Dean lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah that’s not gonna happen.”

“Scared are we, traitor?”

“Yeah because flag poles make me shiver in my boots,” he remarked, sarcasm dripping out of every word. 

Castiel covered his mouth to hide his tiny smirk. Grae clenched his jaw, standing straighter. His hand closed around the pouch at his side and quick as a bunny, threw a red beanie bag at Dean. Out of reflex, Dean covered his face with his forearm, losing his advantage over the skinny boy.

Grae reached into his pouch again, pulling out a black beanie this time and yelling “Dark Magic!” before throwing it at Dean. The same trick was not going to work twice. Using his sword, Dean sliced it away with a smirk. He lost balance when he realized he was not holding it right.

Grae frowned, pulling out small, unsharpened, wooden darts. Seeing his chance, he threw one. It grazed by Dean’s shoulder, temporarily distracting him. It was long enough that Grae was able to launch another, its blunt wooden tip bouncing off of Dean’s cheek. _Ouch._ That one caused pain - not enough to draw blood but enough that Dean’s patience was gone. 

Something clicked inside his brain, and he shifted the sword in his hand. Again, he attacked Grae, a small grunt of exertion escaping his lips. The balance felt better, his slice more clean and precise, as if he knew how to handle the real thing. It caught Grae off guard; he fumbled around inside his pouch, coming up blank as the blunt wooden sword smacked against his side. He yelped in pain, falling to the ground on his knees.

“Yield! I yield!” he cried, throwing up his hands to cover his face. 

Dean smirked at his fallen foe, offering his hand to him after sheathing his sword. Grae took it begrudgingly, standing up to face Cas who had been watching the interaction with a carefully blank expression. The man hung his head in a bow, but not before he gave Dean a hateful glare. What a sore loser.

Dean watched Grae retreat before turning his attention back to Cas. He pursed his lips at his other half’s expression. “What’s the word, Cas?”

Castiel- with a faraway look in his eyes- shook his head once. “You continue to amaze, Dean Smith.”

Grinning, Dean hid his face, a red-hot blush blooming on his cheeks. Cool fingers brought his chin back up, green emeralds meeting blue crystals. Castiel gave a small smile, tilting his head to give Dean a chaste, sweet congratulatory kiss. Dean smiled against Cas’ lips as he drew himself closer, feeling his heart beat pick up. 

A shrill whistle erupted, ruining the moment between the two. Pulling apart with reluctance, Cas unsheathed his sword. “Shall we?” 

 

Though it had all been make-believe, Dean had felt a surge of blood lust rise inside him, the likes of which he had never experienced in the waking world. It was frightening to think that he was capable of such a feeling, but at that time, he was in character, not worrying about the consequences until after the game. It had reminded him of Dean Winchester, however, and the thrill he felt whenever he gutted a supernatural being. For a moment, Smith could understand why Winchester enjoyed it so much. There was something liberating about letting go and allowing one’s animal side to take over to vent out the frustrations of every day.

And Dean had a lot of those.

He would not dwell on that though. Ed would get back to him about his project eventually- hopefully sooner rather than later- and eventually Cas will stop blue balling him. 

After the melee, both he and Dean had been drenched in sweat, their tunics thrown to the side despite the chilly night air. Dean had gotten one look at the lithe muscles of Cas’ torso and arms and felt weak in the knees. 

The sweat rolling off his body had been a Photoshop-worthy enhancement, and Dean had felt his fingers twitch. The urge to run his hands over that glistening skin had been overwhelming, but he hadn’t acted on it. Castiel had noticed his change in mood and tilted his head, asking what was wrong. Dean had shrugged it off, saying he needed some water, and proceeded to saunter to the other side of the field, his pants feeling very uncomfortable. It had taken five minutes of thinking of a cold shower to ease the tension, and he’d gone back to Cas, an easy smile on his lips.

Honestly, he should have been given a fucking Emmy for his performance.

Afterwards, the two had ridden on the bus back to Dean’s work- or at least, that was where Dean got off. Castiel had insisted that he had other things to attend to and would not allow Dean to give him a ride to where he needed to go. Even after Dean insisted, Cas had shaken his head, saying that Dean looked positively exhausted and needed sleep. 

Though Dean did not approve of his wording, he had known Cas had a point. He had been tired at the start of the day, and with all the excitement of the day, he had found his eyelids fighting to stay awake. Bidding Cas a safe journey, Dean had gotten off the bus just in front of his work building and pulled out his keys. 

Tonight the car park was empty. With the long weekend coming up, everyone was eager to ditch the not-so-temperate climate of Sioux Falls and get to the nearest hotspot to soak up some rays. 

Dean didn’t see the appeal in sitting around doing nothing when he could be doing something else. Sunbathing would have more of an appeal if he could watch his shows without getting sun in his eyes or have his Castiel with him, away from peeping toms. 

Seeing his baby parked where he left her this morning, Dean smiled and ran his hand tenderly over the handlebars. “Hey baby,” he said tenderly. “You miss me?” He gave the bike a quick pat, a yawn fighting to be known. Dean felt his jaw click as his mouth stretched wide. “Alright, time to go home.”

Switching the bag with all his LARP stuff around, he mounted the bike quickly, feeling his eyes itch. The light bulb hanging started to flicker as the engine roared to life, his busy key chain rattling against the body of the bike. With his helmet on and his visor up, Dean stepped on the gas, his tires squealing as he blazed out of the garage. 

The sun had set hours ago, a blaze of white stars twinkling in its place. The moon was full, glowing ethereally. The roads were all but empty, no one puttering about to offer competition for Dean’s baby. Wind whipped around his helmet, the cold night feeling colder against his bare face. Walking around without his bike and busing places had served its purpose, but now he was happy to be mounted once again, the familiar feel of rubber burning beneath him comfortable as an old blanket. 

He quickly made it onto Main Street, steering his body around the scarce traffic as easily as he breathed. Throwing a quick glance at his mirror, he readied to take the exit ramp, but what he saw gave him pause. Looking forward again, then back into the mirror, he blanked. What he expected to see was not what he saw. Instead of the downtown portion of Sioux Falls, he saw a set of different buildings as if looking through a plane window. A bright white light burst forth from one of the buildings, shaking his mirror and surprising Dean. 

He threw his body back in reflex, the bike rearing up underneath him. He panicked, throwing his body forward to try to level out the bike. It crashed back down onto the pavement and bounced once before loosing its balance and falling sideways. Dean jumped, barely missing the full weight of the bike falling on him. The road burned against his flesh, ripping his pants.

When he came to a standstill, Dean ripped off his helmet, glad to be wearing it, and looked behind himself again, but whatever he thought he saw was merely an illusion of his wearied mind. Downtown looked the same as ever, the lights on and muted, giving warmth to the otherwise cool spring night. Dean blinked, rubbed his eyes, looked away and looked back again, but nothing had changed; just the same old buildings rising into the cloudless night. 

Picking himself up off the road, along with his bike, he wondered in the back of his mind if he was really all there.

~~~~~~

Pushing his bike home was not what he had in mind for his evening. Then again, Dean didn’t have anything specifically planned for the evening, but it was still an inconvenience. 

Since the roads were relatively empty, save for a few late night keeners such as he, no cars drove by him to offer help as he pushed his baby home into her stall. He patted her lovingly, wincing at the paint that had flecked off in his mishap. 

Dean was obsessive when it came to his bike; never allowing anyone to drive her, look after her or even wash her. His loving hand did every speck of maintenance that had to be done on his baby. It was part of the reason he became a mechanical engineer. His natural love of automobiles and discovering new ways to improve them made him a natural in his field. 

Walking into the main lobby of his building, limping slightly, he forwent the usual staircase in favour of the elevator, his leg too sore to maneuver properly up the steps. Patient, he was not, finding his foot tapping annoyingly on the floor as he waited for the inevitable ding. When it did sound off its arrival, Dean hobbled into the elevator and pushed the button for his corresponding floor. The elevator hummed happily as it made its ascent to Dean’s floor, even announcing his arrival with a cheery _ping!_ He winced slightly as he moved out, mindful of his leg. Walking several miles on it did not make his pain any lesser as a pronounced pain throbbed in Dean’s thigh. _Almost there._

As he neared the end of his hall, he noticed his door was slightly ajar. Feeling uneasey at this, he quickened his pace, grimacing. As far as he knew, Jo was busy tonight, off working for once, so it couldn’t have been her unless she had gotten off work early. Since she worked late shifts, however, Dean doubted that was the case. 

When he approached the door, Dean quieted his breath, and listened. The light was on, but no noise could be heard. Cautiously, Dean pushed the door open, maneuvering his keys in his hand so each one stuck out between his knuckles, Wolverine style. Treading lightly, he put one foot in front of the other, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow, his heart hammering in his chest. 

The kitchen was empty, nothing but the steady thrum of electricity running to greet him. His eyes scanned toward the living room but saw nothing except his withered plants and drawn curtains. It would have been easier to move through the room silent as a shadow if his leg wasn’t hurting. Dean stumbled over the rug he had under his dining room table and had to throw out his arm to stabilize himself. Unfortunately, he grabbed hold of one of the chairs, rocking it into the wood table. Feet pattered out of his room, where much to his relief he saw his boss, Ed.

“What the hell, Ed?” Dean asked, hanging his head down as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you never heard of knocking?”

Ed vibrated where he stood, wringing his hands nervously. “Look man, I didn’t mean anything I-I-I swear! I just came up, looking for you and- and- and- your door was open so I walked in.” His laugh is shaky, his eyes not settling on anything. “And well I haven’t been here that long just long enough to start searching to see if I could find you I thought maybe you could be in the bathroom or-or-or out getting groceries so I waited and-“

“ _Ed,_ ” Dean said firmly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Everything was starting to swim around him now that his adrenaline had left him and he was once again aware of how little sleep he’d gotten in the past few nights. He really didn’t have the patience for Ed to be tittering away like some old nervous hen. “Get to the point.”

“Oh, oh! Yes!” Digging around hastily in his jacket, he pulled out nothing. “Oh right, I uhm. Uhm, s-so the board got back to me about your proposition.” Dean straightened, using the chair as a good base for his weakening form. Once Ed was sure he had Dean’s full attention, he flashed a brief smile. “It’s good, you know, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Y-Yeah. The execs love your idea. Think it’s great, but you already knew that of course.” He cleared his throat, shuffling on his feet. Was this man ever not nervous? “Thing is, without a working prototype, they are… hesitant to go forward with your proposition.”

Ah. There it was. The one linchpin, the one hurdle Dean could not get over: how the hell was he going to make the model work without something to base it off of? He sighed heavily. Of course it was to be expected. Companies were always hesitant to put their full force behind something if they weren’t assured it was going to work. 

“Okay, great. I’ll just spend more time on my prototype. If Lady Luck is with me, I should have one ready in two months or so, maybe longer.” Dean mumbled, stroking his chin. After a good night’s sleep, he should be able to work through the numbers more effectively. At least knowing now that his plan had a future, it made him feel less stressed for the moment. 

He was about to tell Ed to beat it but was surprised that the guy was still looking wound up. Which could only mean… “What else, Ed?”

“Oh it’s nothing really, a small tidbit, little bump in the road, nothing to concern yourself over-“

“Spit it out Temple.”

“Ithastobedonebytheendofthemonth.”

Dean paled, about to yell at Ed about how that was impossible, when Ed stopped him. 

“I know believe me I know, it’s a lot to ask but man, you’re all I got. I don’t want to stress you or anything, but this has to get done.” Ed deflated, looking at the ground helplessly and Dean felt himself sag a little too.

All the stress he had been under was nothing compared to that of Ed Temple, the man who kept on working, never stopping, always behind the desk, not even taking weekends or holidays off. It was why Dean worked as hard as he did. He didn’t want to disappoint his friend and boss. 

Exhaling sharply, Dean straightened his spine. “Whatever, man. I know you do the best you can, and you know I always do. If anyone can figure this out it’s me right? I am only the best engineer on the planet.”

They shared a laugh, but it was empty, for they both knew it was impossible. Dean would try his damnedest to get it done, even if it meant not sleeping for the next month. Best to pretend it was possible for the time being. With a pat on the shoulder and a brief farewell, Ed was led out the door. 

Once he was gone and the door firmly shut and locked, Dean slumped down, the pain in his leg feeling worse now. The urge to just crawl under his soft covers and sleep away this crazy day was strong, its claws digging in deep inside his bones. He knew he couldn’t turn to the temptation. Instead, he fired up the old coffee machine. 

No doubt it felt as ove worked as Dean did himself. Slowly, it steamed and gurgled its way to life, and Dean quickly popped into the bathroom to clean his road rash and bandage it up. Popping a few Advils, and Dean declared himself cured.

Drawers were thrown open, papers roughly grabbed with pencils for companions as Dean’s apartment filled with the delicious aroma of coffee. When the coffee maker dinged, Dean was fully set up to work, his dining room table turned into a make shift desk. Quickly filling his cup with the black magic and a little liqueur for some extra help, Dean sat himself down and set to work. 

~~~~~~~

He stayed up late, his eyes itchy beyond belief, his muscles aching and his jaw clicking from all the yawning. Staring at the coffee machine, willing it to work faster, Dean tried unsuccessfully to count the number of cups he had consumed in the past six hours. It had to be at least a dozen, but with each one he drank, Dean felt like he wasn’t getting the right amount of buzz to keep himself awake. Maybe he was becoming immune to caffeine. 

Feeling like he was about to fall asleep standing up, Dean turned back toward his dinning room, pacing his way to the wall-sized window. It was just starting to get lighter outside, the sun slowly rising from its slumber. One of these days, Dean would remember what it felt like to be fully rested and alert. For now, he was stuck living in a half-conscious state of mind. 

Realizing that the apartment was silent, Dean turned back towards the kitchen.

He nearly leaped out of his skin when he saw another man standing there. 

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaimed, throwing up his arms in automated self-defense mode. The man in front of him regarded him coldly, his face devoid of all emotion. Handsome as he was with his ‘70’s-inspired black haircut and his blue plaid shirt, his look could really improve with a smile. Piercing blue eyes gazed right at Dean, as beautiful as Cas’ but lacking the warmth that his held. 

“Well I’d say this conversation is long overdue.”

“What conversation? I’ve never even met you! What the fuck are you doing in my house?!” How did he even get in? The doors were all locked, windows never opened and there was no sign of forced entry. Anywhere. Even if there was, the alarm should have sounded. 

“Fix him,” a gruff, familiar voice said from behind Dean. 

He turned, eyes popping out of his skull when he saw himself standing in front of what had been his window. Now, it had been shattered, the curtains torn and ragged. It looked ancient, the trim along the side rotting to different shades of brown. 

“First, we talk. Then I fix your darling little Sammy.”

_Sammy?_ Dean looked around the room, noticing that it had changed entirely to the inside of an abandoned cabin, weird red stains all along the wooden walls. Fingers trailed lightly along the walls, the illusion misting away to reveal the original off-white walls Dean remembered painting himself. 

He was in the middle of one of his dreams. 

Looking down, he saw Sammy. Or at least, what was once him. Swallowing hard, Dean kneeled down beside the boy’s body, noticing a rather large stick impaled through his stomach, blood dripping out of his mouth and onto the floor. A phantom pain itched at his own stomach and Dean ran his fingers over top of his shirt. 

Cynical laughter turned Dean’s attention back to the weird scene playing itself out in the kitchen. “You? One unimportant little man? What makes you think you get to decide?”

His ghostly self clenched its fists and he could tell that he was trying not to beat the shit out of the other man. “Because I gotta believe I can choose what to do with my… unimportant, little life.”

The other man shook his head, a pitiful smile on his face. “You’re wrong. You know how I know? Think of the million random acts of chance it took for your John and Mary to be born, to meet, to fall in love and to have the two of you. Think of the million random choices you make each and every day and how each one brings you closer to your destiny.” He pauses, his eyes trailing off the Dean ghost and towards the real Dean Smith. 

_It’s just an illusion. He can’t really see me._

Knees cracking, Dean stood up, his heart hammering as the other man’s eyes followed his movements. “It’s because it’s not random,” he continued, gliding towards Dean who stood frozen to the spot, unsure what to do. The scene felt familiar and the man in front of him seemed familiar yet also not; like it wasn’t the person talking, but some other force guiding his words. This other entity gave the man a chilling vibe of someone who didn’t belong in this plane of existence, of a being stronger than anything Dean could imagine. 

“It’s a plan that’s playing itself out perfectly.” 

He stopped directly in front of Dean, eyes fixed on his. He leaned in closer, as if his words really were for Dean only. He closed his eyes briefly.

“Free will is an illusion.” 

Dean’s eyes shot open, but his vision had vanished, disappearing like a puff of smoke, with wing beats echoing in the distance. There were no ratty walls or broken windows. The two ghosts had vanished from before him, nothing but the dust from the sunbeams to occupy his apartment. His walls were back to normal, not even red stains on his floor to indicate where Sam’s ghostly body had been. 

Shaking, he ran over to the coffee pot, his mind racing. He braced himself on the counter top, waiting for his heart to stop trying to slam its way out of his chest. 

It wasn’t until it died down that he was able to hear the knocking at his door. Feeling like he wouldn’t be able to walk the few steps to the door, he called to the person to come on in. Some scuffling later, and the door swung open to reveal a bright-eyed Cas carrying a tray of drinks and a bag of food. His eyes lost some of their shimmer when they saw Dean and the state of his flat. “What in God’s Earth have you been doing?”

Dean didn’t answer, just yawned. 

Castiel shook his head and pushed a few papers out of the way to make room for drinks. “Obviously you’ve been up all night working.” He started puttering about the kitchen, throwing his overused trench coat over a chair before opening random cabinets. “Good thing I’m here then. Productivity is only nurtured with nutrition and caffeine.”

Dean continued to stay silent, wondering how long it would be before his mind finally unhinged and he was lost forever inside his own fantasies. Never before had he experienced one outside of sleep. Maybe it was just his mind’s way of letting him know he needed more sleep, but that hallucination was entirely unnerving. He had never been an active part of his dreams, always a silent observer like in an aquarium. Happy to watch the fishes glide by, paying him no mind. This time, a shark saw him and decided to try and devour his sanity. 

God, he needed sleep. If only he could just shut his eyes. 

Cas had stopped in the centre of the small kitchen, holding two plates. “Dean? You haven’t said a word. Is everything okay?”

Still hunched, feeling older than his twenty-seven years, Dean sighed heavily. The telltale clink of ceramic on granite let him know food had been set out. Dean never refused food, especially something that smelt so goddamn heavenly, yet he still couldn’t move. 

A gentle tug on his arm. “Dean. Come on you’re exhausted.”

He shoved it away. “’m fine.”

Castiel scoffed. “My ass.” 

He never swore, not unless he was going for shock value and Dean chuckled meekly, earning a well-earned glare from Cas. 

“I’m serious. You’re going to work yourself to an early death.” He shook his head, wandering back to the kitchen to grab the cup of coffee he had brought.

Dean perked up at the promise of caffeine and attempted a half smile. Noticing his shift in appearance, Cas stopped halfway between Dean and the origin of the caffeine. He bit his lower lip, a tell-tale sign that he was thinking of correcting a mistake, and Dean felt his anticipation drop. 

“Cas, don’t you dare.”

Giving Dean a look, he turned back to the table and set the coffee down, turning to face Dean with his arms crossed. “Eat your breakfast, then go have a nap.”

Dean deflated, looking at Cas with a mixture of hurt and annoyance. “I will when I get this done-“

“You’ve been struggling with the same concept since I met you, yet no matter what angle you attack it from, you never seem to solve the problem.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, I know smart-ass. I’m the one who has been suffering remember?”

“There has to be a different way to approach your dilemma.”

Switching between eyeing the coffee and eyeing his food, Dean sighed and picked up his fork, deciding that it was best to eat. “The only thing I can think of that could help me is if I could see the real deal in front of my eyes.” 

Stabbing a sausage, Dean bit off good chunk, his stomach rumbling in thanks. His mouth salivated at the mambo his taste buds were dancing as he chewed on the sausage. It was glorious; a perfect amount of spice with umami flavours. He made a loud, appreciative noise as he quickly finished off one sausage and moved onto the next, humming in pleasure.

It wasn’t until he finished his third sausage and started in on his eggs that he noticed Cas was giving him a look. “What?”

The other man shook himself, successfully pushing his body off the counter he was leaning on to stand by Dean. “You need a real life model of the Impala?” 

Dean nodded, his attention fully on food. Seriously he was going to have to beg Cas to cook like this more often. Maybe he just needed to be grumpy all the time. 

“They haven’t been made in a hundred years though. So I cycle back to the beginning- my God Cas why haven’t you ever cooked like this for me before?”

Cas rolled his eyes, sitting down across the table. “I have what you need.”

Dean stuffed a piece of egg in his mouth. “What, more food?”

Castiel scoffed. “No, the car.”

The egg felt less important now, as Dean slowly swallowed the morsel down. “You have the Impala?”

“Yes.”

“A 1967 Chevy Impala in working condition?”

“Mostly working, yes,” Cas replied, squinting his eyes. “It hasn’t been used in quite a while, but with some love I’m sure she can be up and running in no time-“

The clink of cutlery meeting a ceramic plate shut Cas up. “And you didn’t tell me this way back when?!”

Castiel frowned, shrugging his shoulders. “It didn’t occur to me that you required such a resource.”

His breakfast forgotten, Dean glared at Cas disbelievingly. Was he for real? _Really you’re asking yourself that? This is Cas. He doesn’t think things through that well._

At Dean’s silence, Cas tilted his head. “Do you want to see it?”

Dean gave Cas a look, which only made him tilt his head further. “ _Yes_ I want to see it!” 

Really, sometimes Cas could be so naïve. The other man nodded, as if he had expected as such- then why didn’t he act that way?!- and told Dean to finish eating. “Then you can have a nap and we can go.”

“But I want to go now!” Dean whined, aware that he sounded like a little child. 

Castiel didn’t bother to reply, just stood up and put more food on Dean’s plate. Sighing in defeat, Dean quickly wolfed down the delicious food, the taste not lingering long on his tongue. Now that he knew there was a possible end in sight for his troubles, he wanted to get it over with quickly. 

Once his plate was clean, he stood up and hugged Castiel hard. The other man went stiff, not accustomed to spontaneous hugs no matter how often Dean gave them. Slowly, his own arms wrapped around Dean’s waist, his cold appendages chilly enough to be felt through Dean’s sweater. 

“Can we just go now? I won’t be able to sleep if I know that my dream car is out there.”

Castiel pulled away, eyeing him skeptically. Seeing his overly eager expression, Cas sighed in defeat. “Get your coat,” he commanded, grabbing his own off the back of the chair.

Nearly jumping out of his skin with excitement, Dean squished his exhaustion, replacing it with glee as he grabbed his leather coat out of the closet. Castiel muttered something under his breath but when Dean asked what he had said, the other man just glared at him before stepping out of the apartment. 

 

Dean insisted they take his motorcycle, but Cas was not hearing it. As with last night, he insisted they take a bus, which meant that Dean had to sit still for a long period of time in a public area. He shook his leg with anticipation, the seat bouncing with him on it, earning a venomous glare from Castiel, which Dean ignored. He was giddy with anticipation, the thought that he was finally going to meet his dream car in the flesh – or metal, rather - too much for him to handle.

The bus couldn’t have gotten there fast enough. When Cas finally declared that their stop was coming up, Dean leapt out of his seat, Castiel sauntering up behind him. Once the doors opened, Dean bolted out, running down the street like a little kid. Exasperated, Castiel grabbed his collar when he overshot his destination. Having been stopped abruptly, Dean took in the entirety of Cas’ place. 

“This is where you live?”

Castiel shook his head, his eyes roaming over the plot of land fondly. Old and disused cars littered the lot, most looking beyond repair, rust eating away at the metallic exterior. “It was my friend’s surrogate father’s property. He used to fix old cars.” A fond smile ghosted along the edge of his lips. 

There was only one friend Cas ever mentioned in passing- the one before Dean. The one that Cas couldn’t bear to talk about. Every once in a while, he would say something in passing, or have some look in his eyes that alerted Dean that he was not in the here and now, but remembering a time gone past. It was the most beautifully heartbreaking expression he had ever seen on Cas. 

As much as he hated not knowing who this man was, Dean was okay with living in the dark about who this guy was. Castiel was still healing from it, and who knew how long it would take.

Dean turned his gaze to Cas, feeling a little touched that he was standing somewhere worth a lot to someone he cared about. Reaching out, he took Cas’ hand, giving it a heartfelt squeeze. “Come on, let’s have a look at that baby.”

Smiling gratefully, Cas pulled Dean through the junkyard, each car looking like it could tell a few stories if they had a tongue. Walking by one car, Dean regarded it carefully, noticing that some weird circle was drawn on the side in a brown residue. Huh. Weird.

Leading Dean around the side of the ramshackle house, Cas pulled Dean up to a blanketed shape. Untangling his hand from Dean’s, he walked up to the sheet, pausing a moment for emphasis before he pulled it off. Dean felt his mouth and heart drop.

She was even more beautiful in real life. The chrome accents sparkled as if they were new, the painting looked fresh, reflecting off the small amount of sun it received, the windows spotless. This was a car that had had special attention. 

Dean walked slowly up to the car, placing a hesitant hand on the hood of the Impala. He could practically hear the purr of the engine. 

The urge to drive her was strong, but he had work to do. Taking off his sidebag, Dean dug around inside it grabbing some tools to help him dissect the car. He looked at Cas for permission first, his eyes full of hope. Cas’ own looked reminiscent, and he smiled his small smile. Dean kissed his cheek in thanks, setting his mind up to work. Castiel backed off, more than happy to just perch somewhere off to the side of the garage, watching Dean work. 

The afternoon passed by in a quiet daze, Dean absorbed in the beauty of the car in front of him and Castiel keeping watch, like the ever-present stone angels on church walls. Every once in a while, Dean would ask a question about the history of the car, and Cas would answer as vague as possible. 

Despite the exterior being immaculately clean, the inside had old stains along the inside of the door, the leather seats worn from overuse, and a weird rattling noise erupted from the front exhaust. Dean was about to open it up and clean it out, when Cas stopped him, saying that the object had a purpose (the car had functioned for years after said object was stuffed in there, why take it out now?). Shrugging his shoulders, Dean dismissed it, moving to the hood of the car to get a peak under it. 

Once the engine was exposed to Dean, he moaned with pleasure. It was as beautiful as a Van Gogh painting, each chunk of metal looking golden in his eyes. Castiel drifted away after that, going inside the house for something, Dean did not know what. He was busy running his hands over the engine, its surface cold to the touch.

He was just taking down specs, feeling confident that he was getting close to solving his recoil problem when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Dean shrugged the hand off, more interested in the cooling system. Something jingled next to him though, causing him to turn his head in interest. 

Castiel, with a small half smirk on his face, was dangling keys in Dean’s face, his face flushed. “Yes, these are the keys for the car. I was wondering if you wanted to ‘take her for a spin?’ “

Not saying a word, Dean yanked the car keys out of Cas’ hand before the man could change his mind. “Get in the car, Cas.” 

Positively buzzing with excitement at the opportunity, Dean unlocked the door, its hinges squeaking. Making a mental note to grease them later, Dean got in the car, which bounced down as it took his weight. It bounced again as Castiel sat down in the passenger side, carefully folding himself onto the seat.

Hands shaking with added excitement, Dean took a few tries to actually get the key into the ignition. The car sputtered at first, not having being used in a fair amount of time, but the engine roared to life not soon after. He didn’t pull out immediately, his hands running over the smooth leather of the old-fashioned steering wheel. It had indents from the previous owner, the stitches fraying from love. 

This car possessed its own soul, mingled with that of its owner. The various scratches and love-marks the car sported were but a portion of its story. If it could talk, Dean would have loved to hear its tale. 

He remembered the feel of the car in his dreams, the old-style Impala purring just like this one, its strong sturdy wheels taking him and his brother on the road. It had been beaten and broken, but it had always kept the Winchesters safe. Even when a semi plowed into her from the side, they had been saved by the sturdy frame of the car. 

If this Impala was anything like the one in his dreams, he was proud and honoured to be behind her wheel. 

Castiel cleared his throat. “So are we going to actually move, or would you two like some alone time.”

Blinking himself out of his reverie, Dean shook his head to clear it of his crazy thoughts. What was the use of comparing a fictional creation to the real deal? 

Wrapping his hand around the gearshift, Dean pulled her with ease out of the garage, the car moving smoothly over the gravel ground. Pulling left when they reached the road, Dean laid into the accelerator, happy to hear the purring engine elevate to a roar. 

Now that they were on the road, Dean had no clue where he wanted to go. He was happy to sit behind the wheel and let his gut take over and take him places, but Castiel was ever ready with an idea. Having spent so much time with Dean lately had helped him develop a keen intuition when it came to what he was thinking. Well, in some aspects.

“Turn left at 101A,” he offered, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them. 

Dean half turned towards him, brows pulled together. “Where are we going?”

Castiel shrugged, a mischievous smirk the likes of which Dean had never seen before blossoming on Cas’ face. “You’ll know when we get there.”

Here we go again. Not that he had much to complain about. When it came to coming up with interesting ways to spend their days, Cas was incredibly creative. In their time together, Dean had been taken out of his comfort zone a lot, but each time he’d loved it, learning more things about himself, and about the man he was sharing his time with. 

So when Cas said he had an idea, Dean knew he was in for the ride of his life.

Staying silent as Cas quietly offered directions, Dean obliged, keeping an eye on the scenery around them as they maneuvered through streets he never knew existed. His curiosity was eating away at him for the second time that day, as they drove deeper and deeper into tree infested land. What could possibly be way out here?

Castiel shifted himself in his seat, the leather creaking under him. “Slow down, please.”

Dean eased off the accelerator, the vehicle slowing to a crawl. Castiel put his hand on Dean’s arm, a sign for him to stop. Pulling up the parking brake, Dean moved to turn the car off but Castiel’s grip got tighter. 

“No, pull up.”

Dean focused his gaze on where Cas was, seeing a small white house with a picket fence running around the perimeter. The grass was a beautiful green, the flowerbeds perfectly trimmed and the right colour gradient to compliment the surroundings. The blue door on the house was the most pronounced source of colour in the area. 

It was the same blue as Cas’ eyes.

“Is this your place?” Dean asked, eyes going wide. 

Cas turned and gave him a full smile, setting Dean aback. He never smiled fully, not like this. It lit up his face beautifully, showing the sparkle of his eyes and softening the lines that always persisted. 

“Yes. I happen to live with quite a few others, so finding a time when no one is home is difficult.”

Dean felt his heart do a flip in his chest, his palms becoming sweaty. Was he insinuating what he thought he was? 

“Pull up.”

Well he didn’t need to be told a third time.

Creeping the car up the driveway, Dean parked her nice and snuggly in the double-sized garage, It was empty, probably because one of Cas’ roommates had taken the car out for a ride.

Dean turned off the ignition, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. Now that they were both here, Dean felt a stone had sunk to the bottom of his stomach. There was no need for him to be so nervous; none at all. In fact, he didn’t even know if Castiel had implied what Dean thought he did, It could be he was jumping the gun on this whole thing and was going to end up embarrassing himself. 

In his stubbornness, Dean did not make any move to get out of the car or to even do anything physical. He sat staring out the window at the blank dark wall in front of him. 

A soft chuckle wrapped itself around Dean’s heart. Soft fingers hovered over Dean’s hand, one drifting down to lightly stroke his skin. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his voice coming out horse. He swallowed a few, eyes drifting down to watch the smooth appendages do their dance.

“Hmm?” Cas acknowledged. 

“Why did we bring the car here?”

The fingers drifted up and over Dean’s bare forearm, the little airs standing up as goose bumps formed under Cas’ touch. “I was thinking that since I missed your birthday, I owed you a present.” 

Dean waited, watching the entirety of Cas’ hand cup his left shoulder. Quite unlike his usual cool touch, this one burned hot. 

“The Impala is yours. Use her to your advantage.”

Dean couldn’t believe it. The car was his? Not just any car but the car; the one he had dreamed of and planned to recreate was his finally, just like that. 

He was momentarily stunned, eyes drifting up to Cas’. His beautiful eyes were sparkling in the setting sun behind them, the orange rays fracturing inside them, and bouncing around inside until they disappeared into their unfathomable depths. Cas seemed to be holding himself differently.

Dean smiled softly. “Thanks Cas. That’s quite the present.” Castiel raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s too much though. I can’t take it away.”

At this, Cas’ look became more wicked. “I can think of a few things you can do to pay me back, if it’ll make you feel better.”

And Dean was onboard.

Castiel grasped his shoulder hard once, his touch burning Dean down to his toes before climbing to the back seat, the usually clumsy adventure looking graceful when he did it. Dean followed suit, cursing the narrow space between the driver and the passenger side. With some struggle, he managed to make it to the back to the awaiting arms of the other man. Cas had already situated himself perfectly, lying back with his sinfully blue buttoned up shirt pulling against his chest muscles.

_Fuck me._

Castiel looked positively _hungry_ as he pulled Dean down to be on top of him. Their lips met together in a sweet kiss, the taste of peppermint and watermelon passing between their shared connection. 

Their kiss gained intensity, lips melding together in a heated frenzy. Castiel’s tongue darted out, briefly tasting the inside of Dean’s mouth. Too quickly, it pulled back, and Dean made a disapproving noise before his own chased after it, coaxing the tongue out to dance.

Warm, strong hands caressed the back of Dean’s neck, fingers ghosting at the base of his skull. The pleasure Dean got from such a simple motion ignited the full force of his frustration, his kiss becoming needy, his chest dipping lower as he tried to narrow the space between them. 

Cas bucked up against Dean’s hips, eliciting a moan from his lips. The other man’s hands were magic as they moved over Dean’s torso, removing his shirt with one swipe of his hand. The cold air seeped into Dean’s hot skin, shivering down his arms and his legs but Cas was there to warm them up with more electric touches. 

It was grounding to feel the heated caresses as they kissed Dean’s skin. Sweet sensations ran down his spine, pleasant enough to tease but not excite to the point of breaking. Castiel knew how to play the game, his touches strategic with their pressure and placement, and it made Dean curious. What had the man been hiding during their more tame interactions?

Dean unbuttoned Cas’ shirt, trying not to rip the buttons off in the process. Cas was distracting, his kisses becoming more feverish, biting the bottom of Dean’s lip in painful pleasure. Dean grinned, pulling away from Cas’ mouth to work on the line of his jaw, sucking until hickeys formed, feeling the man shiver beneath him.

Being able to move his hands over Cas’ body, to feel the hard lines of the well-toned body beneath him and to feel the scruff on his strong chin… all of it was tinged with ecstasy. He wanted to taste, to lick, to litter Cas with love marks, to make his toes curl with pleasure, and to make the other scream loud and long until his voice turned hoarse.

And Dean wanted to savour all of it.

He moved to the shell of Cas’ ear, whispering sweet nothings to him in between gentle nips of the flesh. He whispered words he would not dare let others hear, words only meant for the man beneath him. 

Cas’ hands turned claw like, his fingers digging into the nape of Dean’s neck, and dragging them down, down, down. There was no doubt in his mind that there would be red marks there tomorrow. He moaned loudly, the sensation deliciously painful. Castiel smiled against Dean’s lips, his hips undulating up to rub against the tightness in Dean’s jeans. 

The atmosphere in the Impala got steamier, the backseat becoming even more secluded then it already was. Everything was falling away around them; the leather, the metal, even the world. Nothing mattered but the two of them.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Dean breathed, chin resting momentarily in the space between Cas’ shoulder and neck. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the pound of Cas’ heart, the rush of air into Cas’ lungs as he tried to catch his breath. Each note was a part of a symphony and Dean was only just beginning.

“Why wait longer,” Castiel answered, voice rough with desire. 

Dean chuckled, hot air brushing over sensitive skin, making Cas bite his lip. Each reaction Dean got out of the other man heightened his arousal, the connection between them becoming stronger.

This was it. 

This was happening, it wasn’t some fucked up fantasy he thought of late in the night after another sexually frustrating day; this was _real._

Everything else Dean had been experiencing in the past day had been forgotten; illusions disappearing like stars as the sun rose over the horizon. For now, he could put them aside, anything and everything that was unstable in his life could be disregarded. For Castiel was his stability, his life jacket in the stormy seas. 

Dean moved his lips down to the pale pink of Cas’ nipples and worshipped them with his tongue. Breathing in once harshly, Cas let it all out, his chest rising as his heart beat faster. The little nub was easy to excite, Castiel responding as quickly to Dean as it did. 

Dean moved further south, leaving a trail of delicate kissed along Cas’ body. 

His breathing got faster as Dean reached the waistband of his jeans. Using his teeth, Dean first teased Cas by nipping at the band itself, drawing it up an inch before letting it go. Castiel exhaled sharply, his stomach contracting as he forced the air out. 

Dean wasn’t the only one who had been suffering from the dry spell.

Deciding they both had waited long enough, Dean unbuttoned Cas’ jeans. He didn’t immediately pull them off though; instead his warm hands circled around, following the sex lines along Cas’ body. Making his way to the front once again, he then pulled the denim down, Cas wriggling to help speed up the process. 

The white fabric of his boxers were straining against his erection, the top wet with precum. Dean licked his lips, and hooked his fingers over the boxers, pulling them down and off, Cas’ cock finally free. 

“Dean,” Cas whispered, his voice catching. Dean’s gaze flickered up to Cas’, the other man watching Dean’s actions intently. In the low light, his eyes looked as dark as his hair, sweat beads catching the few light rays. 

What light there was shone only on half of his face, but even only seeing half, Dean could see the hunger, the desire written over it, plain as day. 

Licking his lips, Dean focused back on the member in front of him, lowering himself to hover at its tip. Slowly, Dean took Cas’ cock into his mouth, Cas gasping in surprised pleasure, his back arching. His mouth moved down, gradually taking the entirety of its length in as Cas tried to not buck into him. Dean hummed, as he slowly pulled back out, Cas’ breath hitching as he pushed his tongue against the shaft. 

Smiling, Dean repeated his movements over and over, each one gaining momentum until he set up a steady rhythm. Long fingers tangled themselves in Dean’s locks, encouraging his movements. 

As certain as he was that he could suck Cas into oblivion, that was not the way to go out. Pulling out completely, Dean asked, “No chance you have some lube?”

Cas chuckled breathlessly, his head thrown back against the seat. “As luck would have it…” He reached down, into the pocket of his jeans, producing the smallest container of lube Dean had ever seen. He quirked an eyebrow in silent question.

“I had hoped that things would progress as they currently are,” Cas explained breathlessly, chest rising and falling. 

“You planned this?” Dean asked, surprised.

“A single man can not plan for the actions of two.”

Even in the middle of sex Cas could speak in riddles. Only now, it sounded sexy.

Grabbing the bottle from Cas, he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. He moved back completely, nudging Cas’ thighs apart as far as he could. Seeing Cas splayed before him, made his cock twitch, his mouth dry up. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

Gently, Dean wriggled one finger slowly into Cas’ cavity, watching as the man clenched up in response, a hiss escaping his pale lips. Eventually, he relaxed and Dean moved his finger in small ‘come hither’ motions as he stroked the inside of Cas to loosen him up. Soon, a second finger was added, and Castiel’s hiss of pain turned to soft moans of pleasure. 

Adding a third finger, Dean feeling breathless asked, “Do you have a condom?”

Cas takes a moment, his eyes focusing on the roof of the Impala. “Back pocket of… jeans.”

Dean wasted no time, pulling out the condom with his free hand and ripping the package away with his teeth, Castiel watching his every move. Dean’s own member was already hard and carefully, he rolled the condom down. After that was done, he grabbed the bottle of lube again and used what remained to slick himself up.

Sufficiently prepped, Dean exhaled shakily, bracing his hands on Cas’ knees. Again, he looked at Cas, seeing his lust-blown pupils focused intently on every move he made. Cas grinned cockily, brushing his fingers roughly through Dean’s hair and Dean returned the smile. 

Centering himself, Dean pushed himself forward, feeling the resistance of Cas’ soft cavity slowly wrap around his member. Castiel shut his eyes and threw his head back, the fingers twined in Dean’s hair gripping his skull. His mouth dropped open, short gasps escaping as Dean went deeper and deeper until he was fully in. Both panted as they adjusted, Dean’s arms shaking already. It’s been a while.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, voice breaking. “Dean, please.” His hand wrapped around his left shoulder, squeezing hard. Dean lowered his forehead to Cas’, chuckling softly.

“What was that, lover boy?” He teased lightly, his own breathing labored. 

Castiel wriggled underneath him, trying to start some motion. “Dean, please I- Fuck.”

Dean pulled back slowly, Castiel letting loose a sinful moan, eliciting one from Dean as well. He loved it when his boyfriend dirtied his clean mouth. Rolling his hips, he thrust down; aiming for _that_ spot, the one he knew would drive Cas wild. 

On the first, Cas’ mouth continued to make soft moaning noises. The second thrust down had him growing louder, and on the third he clenched his hands tight, his mouth falling open in an ‘o’. Dean smirked, rolling back and hitting Cas’ prostate again with more force, the man’s moans turning to more animalistic noises. 

Cas’ fingernails dug into Dean’s skin as he continued to strike home over and over again, the rhythm he set up going faster and faster, the slap of skin on skin audible over the sound of their beating hearts. 

Stars were bursting behind Dean’s eyes as he felt himself nearing climax, the feel of Cas around his cock near on becoming too much for him to handle. His hands clenched the leather-bound seats as he thrusted with more force. 

He was almost on the verge of tipping over when Cas suddenly pushed him back. Not prepared of it, Dean fell back, Castiel following him so they ended up with Dean sitting with Cas on his lap. Not breaking stride, Cas picked up where Dean left off, rolling his hips and controlling a slower rhythm than what Dean had.

Having the other man in his lap changed the mood in the car. It became slower, more sensual as Cas touched his forehead to Dean’s, his blue-rimmed black eyes focused on Dean’s, breaths escaping in sharp exhales. Putting his hands on Cas’ waist, Dean guided Cas through his rhythm, not letting go until one had been set up. That deed done, he took Cas’ cock in one of his hands and pumped in time with Cas’ rolls. The other man inhaled sharply, a happily surprised noise puffing out of his chest. 

Dean groaned, loving the feel of Cas in his hands, the feel of Cas’ fingers engraving themselves on his body, the feel of Cas, Cas, Cas. At this moment, his whole world focused on the man in his lap. Nothing else mattered to him; not his work, not his sanity, not even his own existence mattered as much as this moment did. 

His noises were cut short as Cas pressed his lips to Deans in the most heated, sexual kiss Dean had ever experienced. Their kiss was languid and open, as they tasted each other, Cas gripping either side of Dean’s face as they fought for dominance. 

Castiel was demanding with what he wanted, his lips crushing Dean’s with more force the longer they stayed connected. Dean’s teeth clacked against Cas’ as he pushed himself forward more, quiet moans reverberating in his chest. The vibrations were too much and Dean had to pull away to catch his breath. Cas regarded him, his hair messy in a sexy way.

Dropping his head low to have his lips brush against Dean’s ear, Cas uttered four little words that lead to Dean’s undoing: “Cum for me, Dean.”

With one final, loud groan, Dean spilled his seed inside Cas, the latex covering catching most of it. Giving a few more pumps, Cas followed suit, his cum spilling onto his and Dean’s stomach.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, voice weak, “Who knew you were so naughty?”

Chuckling once, Castiel drooped in Dean’s lap, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. Cas’ hands dragged down Dean’s body, his entire form shaking as he panted, spent from the exercise. Dean himself felt boneless, his hands releasing Cas’ now flaccid cock as he leaned back against the door. Carefully, Cas moved off Dean’s lap, much to Dean’s displeasure.

Half-rolling his eyes, Cas lightly smacked Dean’s thigh with the back of his hand. “Make room.”

Scrunching his brow, he looked at Cas through alf-lidded eyes, his brain slow to understand what Cas meant. _Oh._ Scooting over awkwardly, Dean made room on the rather spacious back seat for Cas who grinned lazily and stretched out beside Dean.

His head fit perfectly on Dean’s chest, his hand rested at the centre of Dean’s chest. Dean rested one arm overtop of Cas’, his fingers lightly brushing Cas’ backside. Mouth falling open, Dean found himself yawning big, his body already falling asleep.

Not too long after, his mind followed suit, the last thing he saw was Castiel’s hooded gaze falling shut as well. 

 

Dean was jolted awake unexpectedly. He yawned loudly, quickly covering his mouth when he saw Cas' naked form curled against him. The old-style Impala did not have much room in the back seat, so the other man was curled close to him fast asleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest hypnotic. Dean smiled, moving to cover his eyes with his free arm to block out the light, but he stopped when he saw a shadow move. 

At first he didn't panic. After all, Cas said he lived with a bunch of people so it could be that one of them is finally coming home at whatever ungodly hour it was. 

And then he heard the whistling. 

It started off so quiet Dean could've easily passed it off as his ears wanting to hear something abstract in the wind. Then the song grew, the whistling becoming more haunting and recognizable as _"In the hall of the mountain king"_. As far as he knew, wind wasn't articulate enough to create such subtleties. 

He got up carefully, mindful of Cas sleeping so angelic like. The door creaked loudly but thankfully, Cas was not that easy to awaken. Quickly, he shoved on a pair of jeans, the denim feeling cold against his warm legs.

Looking around, he couldn't see the source of the sound, yet it still echoed, haunting him with its chilling tune. The garage light was still on, its orange hue only illuminating half the space. The person whistling could have easily stayed hidden within the shadows that cling to the walls. 

He heard scuffling, and out ran one man, sprinting as if hell was on his heels. Dean leapt back to avoid being barreled over, his eyes tracking the other’s movements. As his eyes moved, the garage around him shimmered and changed, the ground spurting dead strands of grass and ominous trees, all but bare. 

Hot on the first man's heels came another one, blood smeared across his mouth, teeth sharpened to points. From the pursed lips, Dean assumed this man was the source of the whistling. It had stopped in favour of predatory growls as he chased after the first man. Then came Dean Winchester.

_Fuck, not again._ Another hallucination. Perfect. 

Dean Smith chased after the group, but he was nowhere near as fit as the ghosts he followed. By the time he caught up with them, the first man was cornered and chained against a tree, Winchester holding him there with a bloodied blade pressed against his throat. If the other man didn't look like a monster, Dean would've felt sorry for him.

He stood panting, gulping in big sacks of air. It was a good thing everyone in front of him was fake, otherwise they would have either killed him out of sleight or sent him away in an ambulance. 

Even through the rush of air, he could hear Winchester's question. "Where is the angel?"

The monster says nothing, a bone chilling smile creeping onto his face. The other man bounced his weapon in his hands, the picture of impatience. "He doesn't know, Dean,” he said.

"Oh he knows." Winchester’s grip gets even tighter, the smile vanishing off the monsters face. "Where's the angel?" He asked again, his anger reigned in loosely. 

Dean recognized it easily. He'd seen it in himself before. 

Despite how menacing Winchester must have looked, the monster continued to stay silent. Applying just enough pressure, a red drop appeared on the monster’s throat, making it gasp in surprised pain. Dean winced in sympathy. "You feel that?" Winchester taunted.

"There's a stream," the monster choked out. 

Winchester shook him once, roughly. "Go on."

"It runs through a clearing, not far from here. I can show you." 

Winchester exchanged a glance with the other man, a silent communication passing between brothers in arms. "How about you just tell me?"

The monster’s eyes darted around, as he struggled meekly against the chains. Winchester shook him again. "Go on."

"Three days journey, there's a clearing. Follow the stream. You'll find your angel there."

Again, Winchester looked back at his comrade, who raised an eyebrow. Both men looked exhausted, their faces smeared with dirt and grime. Who knew what kind of hell they had gone through in this barren landscape. 

A small quirk of the lips and Winchester faced the monster. "You know what, Mutt," he said. "I believe you." 

Just when Dean thought it was over, Winchester jerked his blade up through the soft spot under the monster's chin. Dean yelped in surprise, a flash of silver visible in the monster’s gaping mouth. It wasn't like Dean hasn't seen Winchester kill anything before; the character has pretty much lived inside his noggin' for months and it is part of his job. Seeing it up close and personal was a different thing all together. He could practically smell the blood that dripped down the monsters throat, it's coppery tang pungent enough to make Dean's nose scrunch. 

And Winchester's smile...

"Well we got a place. Let's hit it, Benny." Winchester cleaned the blade on the ground before standing up. The other man, Benny, grabbed his arm, earning a cold stare from Dean. "This isn't up for debate."

"You know where I stand," Benny said. 

Hearing fabric rip, Winchester yanked his arm out of Benny's grasp. Rolling his shoulders, he faced north, walking away from his comrade and Dean. Benny growled in frustration before following after the other. 

Dean felt tempted to follow them, before his hallucination faded but he felt a tug on his shoulder. The grass shot back into the ground, the trees disappearing like faded photos. 

Turning round he saw Castiel, looking deliciously bed wrangled and dozy, his hair sticking up everywhere, a thin film of sweat still clinging to his bare chest. The light from the garage framed his dark hair in an oval brilliance, like a makeshift halo. 

"Dean? What are you doing up? I thought you were exhausted." 

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, knowing how he must have looked like a maniac, "just thought I heard something."

Cas nodded, eyes drooped. He grabbed Dean's hand, dragging him back to the car. In the distance, Dean could've sworn he heard the rush of a stream, his own voice call out for Cas. 

And the voice of Cas answering him. 

He wanted to turn around, to see the scene that he knew will be playing out for his own private torture, but he couldn't. Not without trying to explain his behaviour to Cas, so he opted just to listen, the words muffled behind the steel of the car door. He couldn't catch much of it, until their voices were raised.

"Why'd you bail on Dean?" Benny demanded. Silence answered him, or Winchester did respond just not loud enough for Dean to hear. "They way I hear it, you two hit monster land then hot wings here, took off. I figure he owes you some backstory."

More muffled whispers. The itch to go see what was happening was almost unbearable, but Cas was curled up with him again, happy to have his pillow back. Dean was comfy right were he was, and despite his other desire, the need to be with Cas was overwhelming. He was real, corporeal. Everything out there was a product of his overworked mind. 

"You bailed on me and what? Went camping? I prayed to you Cas, every night!" From what Dean could hear, it sounded like gauntlets were being thrown down. "You know and you didn't-" a pause again. Was he really talking to an apparition of Cas? Or was his mind playing tricks on him even more so, blending reality with his own illusions? The Castiel in his arms snuggled against his chest, letting out a content sigh. 

This was what was real in his crazy life now. Him right now holding Castiel.

Not whatever was going on out there. It was all an illusion, his overly active mind playing tricks on his overworked conscious. 

It wasn't real. 

"These aren't just monsters Dean, they're Leviathans. I have a price on my head. And I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them to-" his voice dropped off at the end, but Dean could tell that it was his Cas' voice he heard on the other side of that door. His mind was getting more and more fucked up each passing day. 

Despite himself he was still curious. Straining his ears, he tried to continue listening in, but he found that his eyes were growing too heavy, his ears proceeding to shut out all noises as his brain decided enough was finally enough. 

_If Leviathans want to take a shot at us- let 'em. We ganked those bitches once before we can do it again._

_It's too dangerous_

_Then let me bottom-line it here for ya. I'm not leaving here without you. Understand?_

_... I understand._

 

A sharp, unexpected knock on the window woke Dean up the next morning. He jolted awake; sitting up in the cool, empty Impala. Groggily, Dean looked around, trying to figure out where the knocking was coming from. Turning his head, he groaned, feeling incredibly stiff from having slept on the leather seat all night. He rubbed the back of his neck trying to massage some of the inks out.

Another knock clacked against the window and Dean turned stiffly around to see Cas’ face peering in, his hand resting on the window. He motioned for Dean to come out of the car and Dean nodded in response. Throwing his hand down, he picked up the first pair of denim his hands fell upon, quickly shimmying them on before exiting the car.

Barefoot, Cas stood in the centre of the garage, a tray of breakfast goodies held between his hands. “Mornin’,” he greeted with a twinkle in his eye. 

The morning-after look really worked on Cas. His hair deliciously tussled, his clothes wrinkled and asymmetrical, as if thrown on at the last minute. 

“Breakfast in bed?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. “Aren’t I lucky?”

“What makes you think it’s for you?” Cas commented wryly. 

“Just a guess,” Dean replied, shrugging. 

Cas raised one of his own eyebrows. “I’m not your personal chef, Dean. I felt hungry so I made myself some food. I just happened to make enough for you too.”

_Wow, cute and sassy the morning-after._

Dean chuckled, stepping up to Cas. Wrapping his hands around the wooden tray, Dean looked at Cas, “I call bullshit.”

Shrugging, Cas replied, “either way, you still get food. Now eat up. I’ve got plans for you.”

Cas let go of the tray, the tips of his fingers brushing against the top of Dean’s hands. Dean watched the motion of Cas’ hands, expecting them to return to the side of their owner. Instead, the hands moved forward, gently sliding up Dean’s forearms. He was certain that Cas would’ve continued up, but with the tray in the way, it made it hard for Cas to continue his path.

For once in his life, Dean wished he wasn’t holding food.

“How long until you have to work?” Castiel asked, his voice deeper. 

Dean swallowed, recognizing that tone. “What time is it?”

“Around noon.”

_Oh fuck._ Dean was beyond late – he should’ve shown up at work at around nine for a meeting with his project group. Logically, he should ask Cas to bring him a phone so he could call in and explain himself. Ed was usually cool about Dean’s random non-appearances so he wasn’t worried about the boss’ reaction. His current project group however, was constructed of members who were wound up too tight. 

But Cas was giving him that look. The one that stared deeply into Dean’s soul, that rooted him to the spot. It turned him to pudding, willing to do whatever Cas wanted to do. 

He was already late, what were a few more minutes?

 

A few minutes turned into two hours. Dean found himself borrowing clothes from Cas, too rushed to stop by his place and get clean clothes. He was amazed when Cas’ clothes actually fit him - the man was larger than he appeared – and driving his new baby. 

The old-style car was a head-turner, the gleam of the freshly polished exterior catching the sunrays just right to make her shine. No one had a car like the Impala, and Dean swelled with pride. Even though it was newly acquired – thanks to a very generous boyfriend – Dean couldn’t help but feel proud of his ride. He had spent a lot of time looking for such a car that he felt a kinship with it, the dreams he had about it only intensified the feeling.

Rolling up to work stylishly late, Dean parked his new baby in the parkade, nodding to the security guard who openly gawked at Dean’s ride. 

Walking up the stairs to his floor, Dean made his way to his office, surprised to see Ed pacing outside him door. “There you are!” he exasperated, sighing audibly. 

“Here I am,” Dean greeted, a big smile on his face. 

Ed scrunched his brow, confused. “Aren’t you chipper this afternoon.” 

And why shouldn’t he be? Dean woke up feeling refreshed, the additive of having a delicious breakfast and some equally satisfying morning sex with Cas only made him feel even more so. “What’s up?”

Shaking himself, Ed’s confusion melted off. “Uh, y-yeah. You know how I said you had ‘til the end of the month?”

_Of course._ Nodding his head, Dean waved away his words, assuming what Ed was going to say next. “Let me guess, it’s been moved up to the end of the week?”

“I wish,” Ed sighed, lowering his head. “They gave you ‘til the end of the day.”

“No probem-o.”

Snapping his head up, Ed’s eyes widened, “I’m sorry what?”

“I said no problem.”

Ed blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, I think someone slipped something in my drink, could you repeat that?” he asked with disbelief. 

“Ed it’s fine,” Dean said, his smile intact. “I’ve got it figured out.”

“You – You do?”

Clapping Ed on the shoulder, Dean stepped around him into his office. Ed followed Dean with his eyes while his feet remained rooted to the spot. “But… how?”

Dropping his borrowed jacket onto the back of his chair, Dean walked back over to Ed. “Trust me. I’ll get it done.” 

And with that, Dean shut the door, Ed still looking confused. 

The truth was, Dean did know what he was doing now. Having felt the Impala move beneath him, having held the engine in his hands made everything click together. There wasn’t much he had to change in his rough draft – just a few essential numbers, and the amount of different metals he needed to compose the outer shell of the engine.

In record time, Dean had finished his blueprint by five-to-six. Standing in front of the printer with his foot tapping, Dean grabbed the still-hot paper after it finished printing and bolting to Ed’s office. Routinely, he left the building at exactly six, which meant Dean had five minutes to get his work to his boss. 

Arriving breathless with excitement, Dean barged into Ed’s office, making the small man jump out of his skin with surprise. “Jesus, man!” Ed exclaimed, clutching at his heart. “Seriously, you need to learn to knock. I’m too old for surprises.”

“Finished it, Ed,” Dean declared, holding the papers out for Ed to take. The boss’ eyes widened as he snatched them out of Dean’s hands. Pulling his glasses out of his chest pocket, Ed scanned through Dean’s work, his mouth moving silently as he talked to himself. 

As he shuffled through the pages, Ed slowed his mutterings, a hand fisting over his mouth. “I can’t believe it,” he finally said, words muffled by his hand.

Dean shoved his hands in his pocket, rocking forward on his toes. “Great, isn’t it?”

“Great?” Ed removed his glasses, facing Dean. “It’s awesome! The way you’ve completely remolded the inside of the car, but kept the outside the same? I’m – I’m impressed.” Ed smiled gratefully. For once, he stood up straight, looking more relaxed already. 

“Great job, Dean. I’ll give these plans to the execs right now. You go home and celebrate for real this time. There’s no way they’ll shut you down now.”

Releasing one hand from the papers, Ed stuck it out for Dean to shake, which he did with gusto. 

Relief escaped Dean in one big tidal wave as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. That was it. Months of planning, of staying up late, of sacrificing sleep and sanity and finally, _finally,_ he was done. 

Now his specs would be sent to the next level and his car would finally be built. Today, dreams were coming true. He couldn’t wait to tell Castiel.

As if the man could hear his thoughts, Dean’s phone started ringing incessantly in his pocket. Pulling it out of his pocket, he said goodbye to Ed and answered the call as he walked out of the office. “You’re right on time.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. I just finished fixing my draft for the car. Boss saw it, and said it looked awesome,” Dean explained, his grin threatening to split his face in half. Sure it hasn’t been full on approved yet by the higher-ups, but if Ed approved of it, then it was a shoo-in. There was no way his project would get shot down.

“Congratulations,” Cas said. Dean could tell from his tone that he was smiling. 

“It’s about fucking time it got done.”

Now that the rough work was done, the real, nitty-gritty stuff started happening. Dean would be the overall boss of the project since it was his design, giving his final stamp of approval when the machine got built. Test-runs will be executed, crash tests, and various other tests implemented to make sure the car is safe for everyone.

It will be a long process, but the end result will be amazing. 

“So,” Dean started, “got anymore surprises for me?”

Cas chuckled. “I was hoping you would have a suggestion this time.”

Turning back into his office to grab his stuff, Dean quickly tried to think up ideas. Together, they had done many activities that normal couples didn’t usually partake in – everything from bee farming to LARPing was an option for them. As fun as it was to do something out of the norm, Dean wanted to do something relatively low-key.

He had just the idea.

It may be at the end of the week, but hey, he could hold off on doing couple-y things. There were lots of things he and Cas could do between then and now. 

“Hey Cas, how do you feel about rock concerts?”

 

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Just…” Cas twisted his hands in the air, trying to find the right words, but couldn’t. He admitted defeat with a swing of his arms, shaking his head. “Wow.” he stated again simply, gaze glazing over as he stared off into the distance. 

Dean chuckled, a smile permanently glued to his face. He opened the door for Cas, exiting shortly behind him to a greyer world than when they entered the stadium. Thick clouds blanketed the sky above their heads, a quick flash of lightning illuminating the city skyline. A thunderous boom followed suit not long after, with thick drops of rain cascading down, slowly painting the sidewalk a darker shade. Cas turned his face upwards and smiled his small smile. 

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas continued to smile up at the sky as he shrugged his shoulders. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt this serene. In fact, it feels like forever.”

Dean crooked an eyebrow. “That seems like a great exaggeration.”

“Of course, but it does feel that way. I can’t recall feeling like this since-“ Cas stopped, catching himself. 

Dean side-eyed him. Maybe it was because his past was too painful or he was still running from something, but he still wouldn’t mention any details about his life prior to Dean. He wanted to ask all about it; what is was that Cas couldn’t talk about, why his family was missing, but he couldn’t. He knew people kept secrets for a reason; it was a blanket to keep oneself safe. Illusions could be created to cover the darkness, and Dean understood that desire. After all, he had a few himself, so who was he to criticize?

Nimble fingers wrapped around Dean’s own. He squeezed them, feeling a warmth spread up his arm. “Where to now?”

“Well, I have yet to accompany you to the greatest pie joint in the city. I suggest we go there and indulge your addiction.” 

Dean stuck out his lip, trying to act hurt. “It’s not an addiction, it’s a preference.” 

Cas chuckled, swinging their joined hands slightly. “There’s a difference between having a casual snack, and having it every day for nine days straight.”

“That was on a dare.”

Cas just shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “If you want pie, we should probably hurry. Looks like we’re about to get hit by a storm.”

“Eh, I’ve ridden in worse.”

Cas gave Dean his stop-being-a-conceited-prick look and Dean just grinned. Lightning sparked again, the thunderous crash accompanying it not long after, like an obsessed companion. Cas cast a nervous glance upward and Dean bumped his shoulder. 

“Dude, seriously. It’ll be fine.” He said, trying to placate Cas. It didn’t work however as Cas did not return the bump. Dean felt his smile waver a look of concern manifesting in its place. “Fine. How about I drive fast? That way, you won’t have to worry about ruining your pretty do.” he quipped, flippantly. 

Cas rolled his eyes, his lips twitching. Dean’s grin appeared again, full force, making his cheeks hurt in a good way.

Life was good.

They waltzed hand in hand to Dean’s bike, more drops falling from the Heavens. It was about time really; the city had been suffering from such a long drought that the plants were starting to wilt from neglect. Dry leaves were picked up as the wind blew; the rain blown sideways and into Dean’s eyes. More nervous glances were aimed toward the sky. 

They managed to get back to where Dean’s bike was parked and they prepared to mount. “Cas? Are you feeling okay?”

Cas licked his lips. “Yes, fine. Why?”

“You’re not feeling nervous at all?”

“No. Why would you say that?”

Dean plucked one of the helmets off the back seat, handing it to Cas. “ I don’t know, but the ping pong match you’re having with the sky is rather weird.”

Cas said nothing, his frame becoming jittery and he did not take the helmet. Dean waved it around in front of him, try to coax the other to take it. “Really man, you can trust me.”

“I trust you,” Cas responded.

“Really? Because I’m getting anything but from you right now. Seriously, you look like you’re going to vibrate out of your trench coat.”

Cas chewed his lip. “It’s not about trust, Dean-“

“Then what?” Dean asked, genuinely curious. When Cas didn’t answer, Dean thrust the helmet at him one more time before the other finally took it and put it on. 

“You’re going to be the death of me Dean.” Cas remarked, the snap clicking. 

Dean wiggled his eyebrows, strapping on his helmet. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. Really it’s the best way to go.” he remarked before snapping his visor shut.

One head tilt and squinty-eyed glance and Cas followed suit. Dean quickly straddled his bike and straightened it, feeling the sink of the vehicle as Cas got on as well. The bike was not started until Dean felt strong arms wrap around his torso and then the two were flying over asphalt. With Cas tapping on Dean’s shoulders to indicate directions, the two made good time. 

The town wasn’t that large to begin with. On a clear day, it usually took about fifteen minutes to drive from one end of town to the other. Factor in some rain however, and that time drops to twenty-five minutes. Mostly just because people didn’t know how to drive in shitty weather and chose to drive 20 miles under the speed limit, which annoyed Dean to no end. 

The beginning of the drive was fine. Cas was mostly relaxed, his directions were concise, his grip non-constraining, but as the sky darkened, as the thunder grew louder and as the rain fell heavier, that grip turned constrictive. At a stoplight, Dean tried to communicate that Cas should loosen his grip, but his words were lost in the roar of the wind and rain. 

Cas angled them towards a highway entrance and Dean sighed in relief. Easing his foot down and twisting his bar, he accelerated up the ramp, rain pattering loudly on his helmet. The grip got tighter, Cas tapping on Dean’s side, trying to get his attention. Dean shook his head, but Cas kept tapping. He could guess what Cas wanted to say and he was against it. Cas’ grip was too strong, too tight, and it was sure to leave Dean with bruises in the morning. As much as he cared for Cas, he needed to be able to breathe. 

In his honest opinion, Cas was just freaking out too much. 

They merged successfully onto the highway, but quickly they were surrounded by Dean’s favorite people: idiot drivers. The road was collecting a thin layer of water, the tires kicking it up from the ground and everyone was driving way too slow for Dean’s tastes. 

Revving his engine, Dean passed the first few trucks, maneuvering successfully through the obstacle course of vehicles. While he was technically driving recklessly, he was being cautious, his senses heightened. He’d done it thousands of time, and he felt confident.

The other driver obviously did not.

It came out of nowhere, only a honk of the horn and a spray of dew announcing its arrival. Metal screeched as the two bikes collided, sides scratching deep puncture wounds, jeans ripped and shredded beyond recognition. Hot liquid poured down Dean’s leg, a crunch telling him his leg was broken. 

A high-pitched wail traveled through the air. Pain exploded, engulfing Dean inside its poisonous embrace. He felt the air move around him, the rain hitting him harder than before,. Images flashed through his mind as he realized that this was it; this was his end. Dean shut his eyes tight. 

And despite it all, his inevitable death, his only regret was that Castiel was being dragged down with him. Someone’s life was being cut short, someone he cared about and he could have stopped it all. 

Dean supposed that in some morbid way, Cas was right: Dean would be the death of him. He was angry with himself in that brief moment, yet he still couldn’t muster any regret. Everything was ending, it was only a matter of time before his lights were out, but he wouldn’t change anything. In the back of his mind, he hoped Cas felt the same way.

“Dean.”

He wondered if Heaven really did exist and if they would let him in. Cas would get in no doubt; the dude was named after one of their own, so he practically had exclusive access. Cas deserved the best, and the best included passing those pearly white gates. Dean, on the other hand… He couldn’t say he was an awful person, but he couldn’t say he’d done enough in his life to deserve going upstairs and hanging with the crew there. 

“Dean, open your eyes.”

But then, he couldn’t say he was bad enough to go to Hell. If Heaven existed, then Hell had to as well. Would that mean that angels and demons existed too? Well he’d probably find out, whichever way his soul is destined to go.

_“Dean, for fuck’s sake! Open your eyes!”_

He did as he was told, eyes snapping open fast to deep grey skies and wet drops. Rich blue eyes stressed with worry swam in his vision. 

Dean blinked, his head spinning. “This isn’t Hell.”

“No.”

“And it can’t be Heaven.”

“Definitely not.”

“Then where…?”

“An alleyway next to your apartment. I thought it would be best to not draw too much attention.”

Okay, not what he was expecting. Dean sat up slowly, Cas placing a hand in the small of his back to help him up, which he was thankful for. The more his head moved, the more the world tilted. If only the planet would stay still for a minute.

“What the fuck just happened.”

“My prediction came true despite your assurance it would not,” Cas replied, exasperated. “When I claimed you’d be the death of me Dean Winchester, I was not over-exaggerating.”

“I screwed up, believe me I know but- wait. Hold the fuck up.” Dean turned his head slowly to look squarely in Cas’ eyes. “What did you just call me?” 

Cas froze, the atmosphere between them chilling instantly. 

“Call me fucking crazy, but I could have sworn you just called me Dean _Winchester.”_

No response came from Cas; he didn’t even move, the perfect statue of a man. Dean didn’t say anything either, his looks saying more than he could hope to accomplish with words. Eventually, Cas stood up in one fluid motion, turning his back to Dean. There was not a doubt in his mind, Dean had heard right. Cas had called him Winchester. But why? And how was he still alive, with not even a scratch on him?

“You’re alive because of me. I saved you, yet again.” Castiel said, his voice rougher than usual. “I didn’t want to tell you outright about myself or anything else. You needed to find out in your own time. The past can be overwhelming if not handled gingerly.”

“You lost me at ‘saved’.”

Cas turned around, his eyes creased. “I’m an angel, you ass.”

Dean pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “Right. That is some grade A bullshit if I ever heard it.”

A great boom escaped the sky, everything growing darker. Cas stood up straighter as lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the space behind his back. Giant, wing shaped shadows unfurled up the wall, it’s wingspan almost painting the entire side. Dean’s eyes widened. 

_This is your problem Dean. You have no faith._

_Get out of my head._ He shook it hard, shutting his eyes tight, but the image of those wings was still there. It itched with familiarity, like he’d seen it before but couldn’t place where or when.

Dude was an angel. Sure, why not? It explained how he was saved, and Cas’ weird ass name. Mystery solved. But that wasn’t the greatest issue. Dean was grateful that he was alive, that _Cas_ was alive, and yet….

“You called me Winchester,” Dean watched as Cas’ body folded in on itself. His impressive wing display now over, he was back to looking like a normal person. An intense feeling of foreboding gnawed at the back of Dean’s mind but he had to push forward, had to know the truth. “Why.”

Cas cast his eyes downward. “Because it is who you are.”

Dean shook his head and carefully steadied himself under his two feet. “No, see Winchester is a story I made up. That’s all he is, a story. Him, his brother, his father, _they are not real.”_

“You’re going to pitch that crap to me?” Cas accused, bringing his head back up to face Dean. “Don’t you find it coincidental that you’ve dreamed up a reality that is entirely similar to your own life? That things exist out here, things that you once believed only to exist inside your head, such as myself? Excuse me for being blunt, but the creativity you possess, while admirable, is narrowed to your chosen field.”

“That stung.”

“You know what I mean,” Cas fired back. 

Dean just continued to shake his head and chew his lip. It was all too much, everything that was happening all at once. Of course it all had to crash down around him at once and of course he couldn’t just brush it all away. Even if he did try to run, Cas would probably just chase him down, or swoop him away or some other crazy thing. 

“This is fucking crazy. _You’re_ crazy.”

“I know everything seems out of whack right now, but it’s the truth.” 

The alley felt small, everything closing in around him. Why now? Why was Cas revealing his nature now of all times? And this crazy notion that he, Dean Smith, was Dean Winchester reborn was just the biggest piece of bullshit he’d ever heard. A man in a straight jacket searching for normalcy. 

But what was he trying to find? Something he lost, a long time ago. A family member, a friend, a lover… 

_Oh._

“You sick fuck.”

Cas backpedled. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” Dean said, his voice lowering a few registers. He could feel creepy crawlies go up his spine, the headache that meant a hallucination was on the way, but he had to get this out. He had to settle this once and for all. “Who do you love, Smith or Winchester?” 

Cas blinked slowly, the tone of Dean’s voice catching him off balance. “Was it really me you were seeing for all these months, or was it the ghost of a man you used to love?”

“How can you say that?”

“I get it. This guy I remind you of that you lost so long ago broke your heart. I get that he was your end game and that I’m some lame substitute that you came up with as a last resort. It wasn’t me you saw in that café, it was him. It’s not my hand you took, it’s not my lips you kissed and it’s certainly not my body you fucked. It’s all _his._ It’s your desire to have something you lost, to recreate it through me. But you know what? I’m- I’m done. You had your fun. Now get the fuck away from me.” 

That was a testament to his strength, or his weakness. Never had he delved so deeply into his feelings, and never had he expressed them so thoroughly in words. 

His mind was having difficulties keeping up with his mouth, but one thing rang true in his mind: he needed to leave before he got violent. He felt used, violated and above all, lower than the fucking dog shit he’d wipe off his shoes. 

He waited for Cas to get out of his way, but the angel wasn’t moving. Instead, Dean decided to duck around him, not even bothering to avoid shoulder slamming the other and walk away, his head pounding louder. Alcohol was very much needed, and soon.

“That’s what you think this is?” Cas called after him. 

Dean didn’t turn, but he did slow. “That’s what I know. You don’t love me as Dean Smith. You love as this fanciful Dean Winchester. A man you lost and want to get back combined with this heroic prince I created. I get it. ”

“Dean-“ 

A hand touched his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You have no right.” 

It was all a lie. Everything. Every touch, every kiss, every word uttered. All of it was premeditated, reused. He wasn’t his own person, in Cas’ eyes. But he’d fallen for it, completely and utterly. He was a puppet dancing in time with the strings. Well, he was done dancing.

He felt sick to his stomach

He needed to get out.

“Dean let me explain-“

Shaking his head, and biting his lip, Dean started walking away at a brisk pace. “Cram it with walnuts, Cas. I don’t want to hear another lie come out of your fucking mouth.” 

“Dean!” Castiel yelled a final time, his voice echoing. 

Clutching at his chest, Dean wrapped his fingers around the amulet that hung there- the one he found in the park, though he supposed it wasn’t by accident after all. Everything was planned, so perfectly, so carefully. The amulet was practically handed to him, even if he didn’t know it was Cas at the time with the box in his hand. 

Flexing, Dean ripped the leather cord off his neck, tossing it to the side. He heard a small gasp behind him, but he didn’t turn, didn’t see the reaction on Castiel’s face. He just put one foot in front of the other and waltzed out of the alley, his head held high, the rain dancing around him. 

All the way home, he could feel Castiel’s piercing gaze, its eeriness never leaving him even when he was safe inside his apartment once more.

It was deathly silent in his once cheery apartment. There were still coffee cups left over from who knows when, which Dean promptly picked up and threw out. 

Every room reeked of Cas, as if to say he will always be here even when Dean didn't want him to be. He felt blue ice creep down his spine, ice that he couldn't shake. 

God, he needed alcohol. 

Riffling through his cabinets, he found his secret stash of high quality, hard liquor. Not even bothering to fish out a glass, Dean pulled the stopper off with his teeth, wetting his tongue with his friend Belvedere. His thoughts were bouncing off the inside of his skull, like a bouncy ball stuck in a padded cell, and he wanted to stop the ball. Fast. 

In ten minutes he had drunk half a litre of vodka, and he couldn’t stop. Didn't even slow. He'd go so far as to say it increased in velocity, so many questions swirling around, with no answers in sight. 

An idea formed in Dean's quickly clouding mind. Walking zig-zagged, he got to his bathroom, and flicked on a switch. Before he could change his mind, he closed his cabinet door, not surprised to see the face of Dean Winchester still there. 

Dean drank more vodka, watching as Winchester followed his motions. He moved a lot like the moving picture frames from Harry Potter, only they could talk back. "What. What do you want?" 

Hard cut, green emeralds locked onto Smiths identical, softer toned ones. Other than that, nothing passed across Winchester's features, no turn of the lips, no sign to even indicate he was sentient. Smith ground his teeth together, taking another swig from his bottle. 

"Are you even fucking real?" Again, silence, nothing but the irrational breathing of a panicked man to let Smith know his hearing was working. 

"No, you're not. You're a fucking story I made up." Dean leaned in to the mirror closer, his breath fogging up the glass. "What do you want with me?" 

Nothing. 

Water started to drip. 

The pipes creaked to life. 

Everything was getting louder, more obnoxiously obvious. More alcohol burned down his throat. "Answer me you prick. If you're a figment of my subconscious, then I should be able to make you talk." He out the bottle down on the sink, hands bracing the sides. 

Through grated teeth he enunciated, "what. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want. With. Me." 

Winchester was taunting him with his silence, his knowing half smirk like nails down Smith's back. Porcelain creaked as his hands gripped it tighter. 

" _Answer me. Answer me! You fucking owe me that much."_

Slowly, Winchester's eyes dropped down, his head bowing down. Was it sadness, was it grief, or was it something else? Smith growled in frustration. 

" _ **Why won’t you answer me?!”**_

There was no movement; he had become a statue trapped inside the reflective surface. 

Dean had had enough. 

The bottle flew before his mind could process what he was doing, the glass in his hand, and the glass under it, shattering. Pieces of Winchester littered the bathroom floor, the sink catching a few stray fragments. A green eye glared up at him, and Smith picked it up, grasping it tight in his hand. Blood seeped and dripped, but he didn't feel it. Alcohol had numbed him, Cas had numbed him, his own mind couldn't even process what he was doing or what he was feeling. 

Funny to think something as fragile yet as important as a mirror could shatter from such a small impact. 

 

Morning streamed in through his big living room windows, his eyes blinking open in an accusatory glare. 

Evidence of last night’s storm was strewn all over his apartment, his jacket still soaked through with rainwater, his shoes caked with mud and he could feel some asphalt in his hair. He tried to sit up, but his head pounded harshly, and he lay back down, shielding his eyes with the crook of his elbow. His other arm draped off the couch, his hand hitting a glass bottle. Rolling just enough to peer over the edge, he saw an empty two-six of vodka next to a half-full glass. As tempting as it was to just down what was left in that glass, his limbs ached enough to convince him otherwise. 

For a blissful moment, Dean couldn’t remember much of last night. Mostly, he recalled trudging up the stairs and walking absently to his liquor cabinet once he got inside his apartment. He remembered the clink of the glass as he filled it with alcohol, remembered the sensational burn in his throat and the satisfaction of blacking out. 

But then, everything came back to him and he sighed heavily, closing his eyes, willing the blackness to take him into her cold embrace once more. Last night was a cluster fuck. The longer Dean could avoid thinking about it, the better off he’d be. 

_Screw it._

Stretching his arm out, Dean grabbed the glass off the floor and successfully polished off what was inside it. Maybe he could just spend the rest of the day with his friend Captain Morgan in his palace at the Belvedere. Yeah, that sounded like a solid plan to Dean, but at the moment, it seemed the Captain was not home. 

Frowning, Dean slowly moved off the couch, eyes squinting against the sinfully bright light hitting them. Was it worth the trek over to the liquor cabinet when he felt this awful? The liquor called to him, but then so did the couch. Decisions, decisions. 

A shrill chime leapt out of his phone as it vibrated on the table across from him. He could only think of two people who would be calling him, and he was not in the mood to deal with either. Peace settled over the space as his phone stopped ringing but it only lasted for a moment before the phone started to ring and vibrate once more. 

Dean grumbled and fell down on the couch. If he ignored the troublesome phone, he would not have to deal with it. After what felt like ages, the telephone stopped ringing once more and Dean held his breath. No ringing came after a few minutes so he assumed he was safe. For now anyways. Dean shut his eyes in relief and settled down into his futon once more.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he remembered was pounding on his door. For a second, he thought it was Cas. Then, he recalled that the dude was actually a motherfucking _angel of the Lord_ and if he really wanted to see Dean, he doubted a small piece of wood would stop him. Which meant it could only be-

“Dean! Open up you big sloth!” Jo yelled at him through the door. 

“Fuck off,” he grumbled back at her, not sure if she could actually hear him but too exhausted to give a flying fuck. 

More abuse on the wood happened with more of Jo yelling at him to open the door. Fat chance. Dean had just got comfy on the couch and he was not in any hurry to get up.

“I swear to God, Dean, open this door or I will.” 

She was met with silence as Dean just continued to stare at the ceiling. Maybe if he wished really hard she would go away. No such luck, however, as he heard the click of the lock being opened and the creak of the door being pushed. Footsteps scuffled along the floor as Jo made her way over to Dean’s nest. 

When she saw him, the bemused smirk on her face vanished. “Dude, what happened?”

Dean must have looked like a mess if he was to go by her facial expressions. Jo was staring at him with intense worry, her eyebrows knit into a fine line. Even though she was practically his sister and he could trust her with anything, he really didn’t want to discuss the previous night’s events. It was still overwhelming for him to just think about it. 

So he would drink the day away, because that was how he dealt with everything. Booze drowned out misery just as well as anything; it was his favourite coping strategy. Rolling onto his side, Dean turned his back to Jo, hoping she would get the message to go away. He knew he was acting like a bratty child, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was peace and quiet today. 

As persistent as she usually was with gaining his attention, this time, she wasn’t. He felt the couch dip as she sat down on the edge nearest to Dean’s feet. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re going through right now, and that’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Whatever it is that’s eating at you though is going to eventually consume you. Not staring at the problem in the face isn’t the answer. It’s okay to have a temporary distraction for now, but maybe something that’s not so self-destructive? And as luck would have it, I have the solution.” She shuffled on the couch, the cushions bouncing. “My grandpa is finally letting go of his storage bin and Dad said I could snoop through and take what I wanted back to my place. I was wondering if you would help me.” She paused, letting her words sink into Dean. 

He knew she had a point. Moping around all day like some whiny teenage ex-girlfriend was not going to solve his problem. Granted, Jo had probably never dated someone who only dated her because she happened to remind them of some jackass they used to love, but that was not a valid excuse to act childish. 

Despite his musings, Dean couldn’t drudge up the energy to fix his attitude. He was content to just lie on the couch and let the day turn to night and possibly back to day again before he would actively decide to move. His clothes stank of trapped rainwater, his breath felt foul and his teeth fuzzy but he couldn’t find incentive to care. 

For once, he didn’t want to do anything, and he had no commitments. No work, no play. His mind was quiet, all inner ramblings turned off for now to spare his sanity. Legs felt heavy, body even heavier, ready to sleep it all away. 

Everything he knew, everything he learned about Cas he was ready to forget. It disturbed him how much one man-sorry one angel- could affect his life in such a short amount of time. 

Dean had had his fair share of one-night-stands, even dabbled in a relationship, but those were nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He had reached a new level of intimacy with Cas, been able to share things he had never shared with anyone; not Jo, not anyone. It scared him to think that he had allowed someone to get so close to his heart so fast. 

A hand batted his foot lightly. “Hey, come on, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Jo teased. “It’ll be good for you. Promise. And you'll be fulfilling your promise to me."

"What promise?" He grumbled. Jo nudged his side. 

"You said if the day ever came when we could snoop through my grandpas stuff, you'd be there to help, right?"

Dean sighed heavily. “Gimme time to get ready.”

“Come on, we’re cleaning a storage unit, not an office. I don’t think boxes are gonna care if your makeup is smudged. Come on, get up.” She smacked him again on his thigh and got up off the couch. Dean sighed again, rolling to an upright sitting position. Rubbing his eyes, he stifled an intense yawn. “Come on sunshine, we ain’t got a lot of daylight left, so let’s not waste it,” she chided, walking into Dean’s kitchen and pulling out her phone to text. 

It occurred to Dean that he didn’t even know what time it was. Squinting his eyes, he could vaguely read ‘3:47 pm’ illuminated in green glow from the oven in the kitchen. He scratched at his jaw. Had he really been out for that long?

_Time flies when you party in the hole you dig for yourself, I guess._

It didn’t take long for Dean to get ready. Deciding he really didn’t need to put the effort in, he threw on a semi-clean plaid shirt, his most comfy ripped jeans and shoes. With an additional swirl of mouthwash and a quick brush of his hair, he declared himself ready for action. Seeing him enter the kitchen again, Jo picked up her keys and opened the door. 

Dean was about to implore that they take his bike when he remembered exactly where it was. Baby was probably still stuck on the side of the road, if not towed away for scraps. Dean couldn’t remember the exact location of his crash, but he was sure if he scanned the newspaper, he’d be able to find it. The crash had been– if memory could trusted – brutal. There was a slim-to-none chance that his baby made it out alive, or even the driver of the other vehicle, for that matter.. Dean just hoped he’d be able to recover what was left of his bike so he could repair her. 

The two folded themselves into Jo’s small car, the ride passing in amiable silence. If it was anyone else in that car with Dean, the atmosphere would have felt awkward, with not even the radio to break the ice. However, this was Jo he was traveling with; the little sister he always wanted but never got. 

They were siblings, not in blood but in bond. She could read everything about Dean just by looking at him, as he could with her. Words did not have to be spoken between them in order for a conversation to take place; a conversation could be had through subtle changes in facial expressions and body language.  
Right now, that came in handy. Dean didn’t want to tell Jo exactly why she shouldn’t talk to him, so he was glad that she could read it all in his body language. 

Usually, she respected his down moods and allowed him to feel them for a certain amount of time. Eventually, she got irritated and tried to figure out how to fix a problem only Dean knew about. It was one of her more meddlesome characteristics to say the least.

The storage bin wasn’t far from where Dean lived. It was a larger unit, with two large steel doors guarding its entrance. It took their combined strength to push it open successfully. When it was fully open, and the treasures hidden within revealed, Dean couldn’t help but give a low whistle. He thought Jo’s house was eclectic at best, but this place made hers look ordinary. 

Chains hung down from the ceiling, some with hooks on the end, some with nothing but cobwebs to hold. Boxes lined each of the four walls, some etched with strange symbols of varying colours and some plain and smooth. Steel cages were piled in a corner, with more boxes inside them. 

Strange patterns were sprayed on the floor, ones Dean was certain he’d seen inside Jo’s theology books. He could make out a giant red pentagram encased inside a circle with smaller symbols etched around the outside. Red triangles and zigzags dotted the walls in random locals, not following a specific pattern. 

Guns were displayed proudly where no boxes dwelt, dust settled on top of each barrel, and bags of salt were thrown into the corners. 

The place looked like a sex torture dungeon. 

“Great, isn’t it?” Jo breathed, a big smile lighting her face. 

“Not quite the word I’d use,” Dean said, shrugging off the unease that crept up his spine like bony fingers. 

“Grab a box and just take it out. I’ll sort through it all when I get home.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to fit this all inside your car.”

“Grandpa said I don’t have to get it all done in one day. I have ‘til the end of the week.” Jo shuffled around the locker, eyeing each box with interest until she picked one and lifted it into her arms. “C’mon. Time’s a-wasting Dexter.”

Running his hand through his hair, Dean took in the entirety of the bin. Where to begin? Jo was having no difficulties maneuvering between the boxes and picking out ones at random. She never opened them, just picked them up and moved them out to her car, whistling all the while. 

Curiosity was not Dean’s friend. Just touching a box sparked his interest. Up close he could see all the intricate designs painstakingly painted on the outer surface. Some were so complex, he felt a sense of pity that no one aside from him and Jo would ever see it. Taking a peek inside, Dean saw it wasn’t really interesting. Mostly, there were just papers all piled inside. Nothing too exciting, so he carried it out to Jo’s car. The next few boxes were all the same, more papers and more symbols. 

Still, the boxes called to Dean. Even though most of them contained essentially the same basic thing, he kept checking, like a kid at Christmas wanting to know what Santa had brought this year. Each box was light, each one filled with various papers. 

Time passed, the sun sinking lower in the sky. The storage bin was starting to look bigger in size as more boxes were cleared out. Dean continued sneaking a peek inside each box, disappointed each time he found the box filled with photos and papers. 

It wasn’t until Jo picked up one of the boxes inside the cage that something caught Dean’s eye. She tried to lift the box herself but groaned when it was too heavy. Dean went to her aid, helping her lift the box off the others. It was old and damaged however, so the contents inside broke free from the bottom, its contents spilling everywhere. 

Jo tilted her head back and groaned louder. “I should just throw this box away,” she complained, chucking one of the pieces to the side.

“Can’t hurt.”

“Except Dad would kill me. These boxes took forever to paint and etch.”

“What’s the chicken scratch anyways?”

“It’s Enochian,” she said. At Dean’s confused glance she elaborated. “You've seen it before dummy. Remember? On that box you found?"

He did remember, he remembered it very clearly to the point where he could almost jot down the symbols from memory. 

"Grandpa always had a thing for ancient forgotten languages," Jo continued to babble, ignoring Dean's sudden change in mood. "He said he learned this one through an angel of a man one lazy summer and decided to decorate all his boxes with it. I don’t know if it’s some kind of protection spell or what but, I think it’s cool.”

“Why? Seems kinda odd, don’t you think? Or is he part of the super-secret Avengers Initiative?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “You wish. But, you know, he never really said. Grandpa has always been a bit odd though.”

“Odder than you?”

“Shut it. I mean, he spent most of his life on the road, and he had a lot of trouble with relationships. Maybe he just needed something to hold on to.”

“Why the traveling?”

“Dunno. I would love to take a road trip across the country though.”

“So you can find your monsters?”

Jo shrugged, ending the conversation. “You gonna stand around or are you actually gonna help?” 

Bending down in unison, they started shuffling through the papers, Jo taking one look at each piece and throwing it into a pile. Dean was going through each piece slowly, scanning each one. 

They all had weird headlines, all relating to people dying in strange accidents from eons ago. Amongst the newspapers were various case files, strange mythological photos and the like. 

Dean kept digging until he found something that felt like a book. Picking it up from the mess, he could see it was a handmade, leather-bound journal of some kind. Light beige in appearance, it was obvious it had been both well used and well loved. Gingerly, Dean opened the snap, unveiling the pages hand-chosen for this book. 

Dean scrunched his brow as he flipped through it delicately. Strange didn’t even begin to cover the shit he was seeing on the pages. Every mythological creature was outlined in detail; from demons to wendigos to shapeshifters, everything about everything was in here. In other words, it was one box of crazy.

So why did it feel so familiar to hold the journal in his hands? Had he seen it before? Dean could’ve sworn he had, but how exactly he was unclear. 

He flipped back to the front, seeing that the front pocket was filled to the breaking point with photos and papers. Curious, he took them out and flipped through them. There were mostly family pictures; a dad with his two boys on the hood of Dean’s dream car, a lone picture of a beautiful blonde woman, another of the blonde with the dad. Good, normal family photos.

Then Dean flipped to the last photo and dropped everything, the thud of the book alerting Jo. Seeing the panicked expression on his face, she crawled over to him, putting a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Dean, hey come on. What’s up?”

Dean didn’t say anything, his once blissfully quiet mind buzzing with activity. His throat constricted, his eyes unable to look away from the photo that now lay just out of arms reach. A headache sprang to life behind his eyes, pulsing white dots dancing in his vision. 

It was impossible. There was no way that photo could exist. It was physically _impossible._ That man, standing there… he was just a story. A dream. Not real, no, never. 

Then how was Sam Winchester’s face smiling at him? If he was just a fucking story invented by Dean in the late night hours, how can he be in a fucking photograph? How could he have his arm around Dean Smith, how could he be even _near_ Castiel? 

Jo followed Dean’s panicked gaze to the source. Slowly, she picked up the photo, her eyes going wide.

“Oh no,” she breathed and Dean blacked out, the image of Sam Winchester, Dean Smith and Castiel all smiling happily at each other the last thing he remembered.

~~~~~~~~~

_They found it. The main entrance to the one and only Hell. Or rather the ground it was buried in. It seemed strange that once again the two found themselves back at Stull Cemetery in Lawrence, Kansas, like everything was coming full circle. Ages ago, Sam fell into the cage with Lucifer and Michael, and now they were here to close it all down._

_They had fought bloody tooth and nail for near on a year to get everything prepped for this moment. They had almost died a thousand deaths, been attacked by Heaven and Hell and now, they were going to shut Hell down. Forever._

_Crowley was bound and gagged at their feet, his majesty now worth nothing but the sacrifice they needed him for. The chains and handcuffs they found inside the Bunker had proven handy; demon sigils, anti-smoking charms, the whole shebang. All to keep the bastard from smoking out before the fun started._

_Holding Ruby’s knife in one hand and a bag of essentials in the other, Dean turned to give Sam a look. He wielded an angel blade in one hand and Crowley’s leash in the other. The timing had to be perfect for this to work; Kevin had been very specific about the final trial._

_A leader of Heaven and a leader of Hell had to be killed simultaneously. With no archangels left in the building to gank, the only other angel Dean could think of who even resembled an authority figure would have to be Naomi. Her location was hard to figure out. That was where Castiel had come in extra handy. Right at this moment, he was out looking for the manipulative angel while the brothers waited patiently for his return._

_“You ready, little brother?” Dean asked._

_Sam tightened his grip on Crowley’s chain. “I don’t want to jinx it but, it feels like we’re actually going to win,” Sam said, hope entering the corners of his voice._

_Dean felt it too; for once, everything seemed to be going well for the Winchesters. However, he didn’t want to let that hope blossom out of control inside his chest, so he smooshed it down with his built in defense mechanism of self-hatred and self-doubt. He was going to stay focused for this final trial. Focused enough to ensure Sammy didn’t die, and Cas didn’t die. Bonus if he survived, but his own safety was not as important._

_The ground started shaking, a high-pitched whine announcing the arrival of the cavalry. Crowley struggled in his chains, but he was powerless. Nothing more than a meat suit with sass trapped inside._

_It was do or die time._

_Cas appeared first, but he was not alone. An angel was grappling with him midair, the two falling to earth with remarkable speed. Dean felt his gut clench as he watched his angel fall, but he couldn’t do anything to help. He was only mortal, and he had to stay by Sam. This was all part of the plan._

_Angel wings beat the air, causing tornado-strength winds to stir. Dust kicked up into Dean’s eyes, forcing him to squint to try and see what was unfolding. There was a colossal bang, evidence that two almighty beings had crashed to earth. Nothing could be seen through the smokescreen created by from the fall, so Dean held his breath and listened carefully._

_A guttural scream rocked Dean to his core. It sounded like Cas. Dean surged forward unconsciously, but caught himself. His gut screamed at him to go help Cas, while his mind cautioned against it. There was nothing he could do to help his angel._

_He was focused so intensely on what was happening that he almost missed Sam’s yelp and the flap of wings._

_“Stand down, Dean.”_

_His spine went rigid, his body clenching in a fight-or-flight response. With caution, he turned to face the source of the voice. There she was, the woman of the hour: Naomi. To her left stood another angel, holding an angel blade pressed to Sam’s throat._

_Lifting his own blade, Dean faced down the one who had manipulated Cas. Cold anger seeped from the pit of his stomach, extending out to his limbs at the knowledge that she was the reason Cas had never become whole, that she had told Cas to kill Dean, and that she had been the one who took away what Cas had fought so hard to gain: his free will._

_And he was about to bring her down, Winchester style. Dean gave a feral smile at the thought._

_“Really. You think it’ll would be that simple?” Naomi said, raising her eyebrows._

_More fluttering of wings announced the arrival of more angels, one holding a bloodied Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat and another holding the chain containing the King of Hell._

_“All your planning, all your carefully drawn-out plots and schemes all unraveled in two minutes by me.” She smiled sweetly, the sentiment not reaching her eyes._

_Movement in the edge of the cemetery caught Dean’s eye, his smile growing. “Well, there is always Plan F.”_

_Naomi tilted her head, the look much less endearing on her than on Castiel. For her, it looked downright pedophilic. Creepy. “Meaning.”_

_Dean chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to flambé an angel.”_

_Kevin jumped out from behind a gravestone, his Super Soaker firing off streams of holy oil at the angels. It distracted them long enough for Cas and Sam to slip through their captors’ fingers. Just in time too. Dean pulled out a can of aerosol and his trusty lighter, creating a makeshift flamethrower. The angels lit on fire easily, great flames engulfing their vessels. Their screams were deafening, echoing so loud they could be heard for miles around._

_Kevin backed up slowly, his Super Soaker empty, and Dean yelled at him to get out. Dropping his weapon, he ran for it, not trained and not ready for the battle that was about to take place._

_Dean found Sam’s eyes in the chaos, and the two traded a look. He nodded curtly, and the two threw their weapons, catching them again in sync. All the hunting they’d done together throughout their lives really paid off for high stake moments like this. They could move in time, each one knowing what the other would do and adjusting his own actions accordingly. Sam was taller and stronger, while Dean was faster and more agile. The two played off each other’s strengths and it was for that reason that they created such a deadly duo._

_As Sam approached Crowley, Ruby’s blade ready in his hands, Dean approached Naomi, mindful of the flames. She wasn’t freaking out as much as the others, her meat suit twitching randomly. The flames were dying out already however, which meant Dean had to work fast._

_He raised his blade, seeing Sam do the same in front of Crowley. The two blades came down in time and Dean felt at peace._

_“Dean!”_

_Before he could react, Naomi successfully dodged to the side, grabbing Dean’s arm and arching it down. The blade passed through the air beside her harmlessly, not even grazing her immaculate suit. Cheated out of one target, the blade found another: Dean’s stomach. White-hot pain erupted from the wound and spiked up, encompassing him in blind agony._

_“DEAN!”_

_His eardrums ached with the scream, near on exploding from the sheer force of it. Blood dripped from his ear, falling from his face to the floor. He fell to his knees, his hand letting go of the dagger. Above him, he could hear cruel laughter through the ringing in his ears. Looking up at the angel through the flame, he was surprised to see that despite her agony, she was smiling victoriously._

_“Well how about that? I win.”_

_More laughter spilled through the roar of the flames as she threw her head back. She made a maniacal picture, skin bubbling and melting off her bones, surrounded by red aside from the white of her teeth and eyes which disappeared when a silver cone burst forth from her mouth, cutting off her laughter. The cone was removed, and she too dropped to her knees, face-to-face with Dean who was tenderly cupping the blade in his wound._

_Dean tucked and rolled quickly when he saw the buildup of blue light in her eyes. Every move he made hurt like a bitch but he had to get as far away as possible from the explosion that was about to happen. A high-pitched whine grew in ambiance._

_Beige lightning wrapped itself around Dean, shielding him as Naomi’s grace imploded like a star, collapsing in on itself before exploding outwards with a spectacular note of finality._

_Then silence._

_Slowly, Cas unraveled himself from around Dean, both raising their heads to look back. Black ash floated in the air, big wing-scorched marks forever etched into the ground on either side of the still-burning corpse, the flames dwindling to almost nothing. Dean managed a smile, leaning back into Cas’ chest._

_Sam walked over, a bloodied knife in his hand. Frantically, Dean scanned Sam, looking for any kind of scratch on his brother’s figure. When he saw none, he breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like they had gotten to the end, still standing and relatively unscathed._

_Sam pulled out his paper, chanting the spell with shaking fingers. The Earth rumbled and shook, lines zigzagging into existence across the cemetery. Chunks of dirt came loose, dropping down into the center of the Earth. All around him, Dean saw gravestones, trees, grass, near on everything in sight, get pulled down out of sight._

_The entire cemetery was getting swallowed and Cas sprang into action. He scooped Dean up bridal style with ease and ran over to Sam, hopping over the chasms appearing._

_“Grab my coat!” he screamed._

_Sam didn’t need much incentive, grabbing onto the tails of Cas’ coat as the ground disappeared beneath the trio. Dean felt his stomach turn, his forehead breaking out into a cold sweat._

_One blink later, and they found themselves back at their base of operations, in Dean’s room of all places. In contrast to the cemetery, the room was loudly silent, nothing but their heavy panting and loud heartbeats breaking it._

_Cas dropped Dean gently down onto his bed, careful not to disturb the blade still embedded in his stomach. Dean saw Sam’s face age ten years when his eyes finally laid upon the blade. Dean smiled good-naturedly, but no one bought his false cheer._

_Everyone knew the inevitable was happening- it was the one thing the Winchesters always feared for each other, the thing that was always waiting around the corner. The question was whether they would be able to beat it this time. Removing the angel blade would only speed up the process. They all knew that._

_Sam’s eyes watered as he looked at Cas. “Fix him,” he pleaded, his voice sounding worn and broken. “Cas, please. Tell me you can fix him.”_

_Cas clenched his jaw, unable to meet Sam’s imploring gaze. He didn’t say anything, his eyes downcast and shielded by his lashes. There could only be one reason why Cas wouldn’t heal Dean. It was because he couldn’t. Dean knew Cas would move Heaven and Earth for his righteous man would do anything to keep him safe. He was an angel of the Lord and there was practically nothing he couldn’t do. But now, he was all but powerless._

_Hot blood seeped into the mattress, and Dean couldn’t help but frown. His newly bought sheets, once so purely white were now painted red. Cas scoffed, hearing the internal monologue of Dean and raised his eyes to glare at him. His heart wasn’t in it though._

_Sam surged forward, grabbing the lapels of Dean’s plaid shirt, wanting to punch him but crying too hard for it His eyes were red and puffy, looking every bit like the little brother Dean was so used to taking care of. Dean patted his shoulder weakly, feeling his strength leave him in waves. He knew he didn’t have much time, he could feel it. Better get this over with._

_“Heya Sammy,” Dean said meakly. “It’s gonna be okay, we won’t be separated for long. I’ll be waiting for ya, up in that big fluffy penthouse. Hell, so will Jo, Ellen, Bobby… Jess.”_

_It was getting hard to talk, blood filling his mouth and chocking him. There was a lot he wanted to say, but he never was one for speeches. He wanted to tell Sam to end it all. No more hunting. It was time for him to hang up with gun and become a civilian. They had done their part._

_While Dean was bitter his life was ending, he saw it as a blessing. It meant Sam could go out and make use of his time, live the apple pie life Dean tried but never could live. Sam was cut out for it though. This hunting life was never his gig; it was Dean’s._

_There was nothing for him after the job, anyway. Nothing but Cas, and he was an angel. How long before he got bored?_

_Sam clenched his eyes shut, opting to bury his face into his brother’s chest. Dean patted his head, seeing intense blue swivel in his direction. Never in his life had he seen someone so heartbroken and shattered. It took a lot for him to keep himself composed, Dean could tell. Sam let go of Dean, leaving his shirt a big wet mess, and backed away from the bed._

_Locking gazes, Dean raised his hand and Cas took it tentatively. Pulling the angel toward him, Dean guided him to his mouth, sharing a soft kiss with him. With his other hand, Dean cupped Cas’ face, the angel nuzzling against the touch. Dean smiled gently, feeling tears fall on his face to mingle with his own river._

_Their lips broke apart, only so their foreheads could touch. The colours around Dean dulled to darker shades, white spots flashing. Gentle wisps gathered in the periphery of his vision, a familiar figure taking shape. Cas squeezed Dean’s hand tighter, feeling Death’s presence._

_“It’s gonna be okay angel.” He moved his hand to wipe away Cas’ tears. “Come visit me anytime,” he whispered with the last of his strength._

_Death touched Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s hand fell to the bed, the last of his breath escaping._

_He awoke to the feeling of arms wrapped protectively around him. Eyes fluttered open lazily, arms stretching above his head. He flopped his head to the other side and smiled blissfully. There was Cas, an angel who didn’t need to sleep, snoozing away; his brown hair artfully tussled into the sexy bedhead look. Dean carefully rolled over to face Cas, mindful not to wake his angel, so he could stare at him, so mesmerized by how peaceful and human-looking he was._

_Cas’ arms squeezed him closer, Dean happy to oblige. Their legs tangled together, any inkling of Dean getting up quickly knocked away. He could understand why Cas watched him while he slept. To see all the cares of the world melt away to leave nothing behind but vulnerability was a rare gift. Both had been through so much, the pain plaguing them while they were conscious, faces looking older than they were. Sleep erased all of the pain. Sleep was the only safe haven left, a trance to reveal original state of mind before everything._

_Chilled air brushed against Dean’s thigh making him shiver. As gingerly as he could, Dean moved the quilt to cover them both._

_Cas felt the movement and opened his eyes, his eyes lighting up in a smile, which Dean returned. He kissed the tip of Cas’ nose._

_“Morning angel,” Dean whispered, giving Cas’ lips a quick peck. Cas’ own barely moved, his eyes shining brighter than the sun._

_“Morning Dean,” Cas replied, his voice gruff and quiet, as if not daring to disturb the peaceful morning._

_Entwining their hands, Dean rested them on the sheets in the space between their hips, completely content to spend the rest of the day in bed with Cas. No monsters, no demons and above all no trials existed in their private world. Just him and Cas. Together._

_This had to be Heaven._

_It was a dream for sure; last thing he remembered was debriefing Sam on the plan to shut the gates at the motel, not in the Men of Letters bunker. Dean’s dreams were rare occurrences lately though, so he wasn’t ready to give up this one very quickly._

_Someone knocked on his door and Dean sighed. “Not today, Sam.”_

_“Dean, come on, this is important.”_

_“Yeah well so’s sleep.”_

_Cas snuggled into Dean’s neck, his breath gentle on Dean’s skin. No way in Hell was he leaving willingly._

_“I’ve located Crowley. We have to act fast.”_

_Dean felt his face twist in confusion. “What’re you talking about? He’s chained in-“ and then it clicked. This wasn’t a dream; it was a memory. And if he was living out a memory, then it meant that this really was Heaven. And if he’s in Heaven, that meant- Dean swallowed._

__I’m dead. Again. __

_So the Cas in front of him, the one snuggled so warmly against him was not his Cas. Not really. Just an echo conjured from memory._

_“Put some clothes on, you guys. We have an audience with the King.”_

_Cas moaned, his lips grazing a hickey Dean must have acquired at some point, sending shivers down his spine. “If only the world could stop for one day.”_

_Dean’s stomach tightened, holding the memory of his angel closer. It wouldn’t be long before the real Cas came to check up on him, would it? He wouldn’t forget about his hunter up here right? His throat constricted painfully, worry blossoming in his chest._

_This was ridiculous. Since when was he the codependent boyfriend who couldn’t stand to be separated from his other half?_

_He shook himself. Get a grip, Winchester. Now was not the time to be all sentimental and girly. There were more pressing matters at hand. Like what exactly, genius? Well, how about being stuck in Heaven, literal Heaven. There wasn’t any quick fix this time. No angel was able to send him back down, only Cas and the real Cas was not here._

_What would he do back downstairs though? Hell was a one-way ticket ride. No return trips given and Heaven was… well, Heaven. Chalk full of feathery douchebags, but all in all, harmless enough. Hopefully, with no demons roaming the earth, angels wouldn’t feel the need to walk amongst the humans. As long as they kept their asses out of everyone’s lives, they could keep their current arrangement._

_“Dean.”_

_Dean spun his head around so fast he heard an audible crack in his spine. Relief flooded through him when he saw his angel, and then he cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing that he had a version of Cas already wrapped up in his arms._

_“This is your Heaven?” Cas asked, his voice cracking. Dean bit down on his lip, looking down so Cas wouldn’t see the red colouring his cheeks. “I’m glad this is one of your favorite memories as well.”_

_Dean felt his heart clench at the declaration. “I didn’t know you picked a favorite,” he commented, surprised to see a faint blush appear on his angel’s face._

_“I came to see how you are adjusting.”_

_Leave it to Cas to bring technicality into a simple discussion. Dean let go of fake Cas, feeling the echo fall to the bed. If memory served he wouldn’t be ‘waking’ any time soon; he and Cas had chosen to ignore Sammy that day, choosing instead to sleep, cuddle, and fuck all day._

_“Adjusting is fine and all, but I’d rather be down on solid ground.” Dean remarked, throwing on a shirt. Even though he didn’t feel a chill, there was a comfort to doing something so mundane._

_Cas, watching every motion Dean made, stayed silent until he stopped moving. “I can’t,” he replied, throwing up a hand when he saw Dean’s mouth open to protest. “My decision is final. You may think it unjust; however, think of it from my perspective. From Sam’s. A hunter’s life isn’t a very long one; no matter how skilled you are, you’ll eventually end up back here. It’s hard enough to see you die once, never mind over and over again. To throw you down, is just delaying the inevitable.”_

_During his speech, Dean felt his shoulders fall. He understood everything that Castiel said, he really did, but some selfish part of him wanted nothing more than to be given what he wanted. Cas rarely ever refused him a request, only doing so when there was no choice._

_On the flip side, he could see it as a new start for Sam as well. He had a chance to live out the life he always wanted. The Hunter’s life never suited him, never will, and now that the gates of Hell were closed, his dream could be a reality. To have Dean back down there to weigh him down, would just fuck everything up. Never mind. He could learn to love it up here. After all, he still had Cas._

_“It’s cool. At least Sammy has been given the chance of a lifetime. It’s time he ruled himself. I hope he goes back and finds that Sarah chick.”_

_“He misses you.”_

_Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, feigning nonchalance. “He’ll get over it. As long as you give me the low down every once and a while of what he’s up to, everything will be cool. And you can fly messages to him from me too. You’ll be like my own personal owl. I should name you Hedwig.”_

_“I miss you.”_

_Blood pooled in his mouth from the force of his bite, but it was healed instantly. “Dude, I’m in your house now. Consider this the next step in our relationship.”_

_Cas chuckled. “I’m honoured.”_

_“As you should be. I’ve never committed this much to anyone aside from Sam, but he’s family.” He gasped as if a thought just occurred to him. “Wait, we’re not moving too fast are we? I swear you need my dad’s permission before whisking me away.”_

_Cas laughed and Dean smiled. Making his angel laugh was one of his favorite past times. Hearing it was music to his ears- only Dean could make Cas laugh, so he didn’t get to hear it often._

_“Now, shall I kick out this robotic you so there’s room or would you like him to join us?” Cas was silent, and Dean felt uneasy, so he continued. “From what I hear, every new couple needs to christen the house. So what do you say? Start here and move to my parent’s room?”_

_Still silent, Cas turned away, opting to face the wall instead. “Heaven isn’t what it used to be Dean. After all the trouble caused both up here and down below, plus my little… mishap, and Naomi’s influence, everything has become closed off and impersonal.”_

_“How so?”_

_“The sensations. Everything you do has limitations. For instance you may notice that the wind blows, but you cannot feel its breath.”_

_“How about you talk more normal and less Blake here Kojack.”_

_Cas sighed, turning back to face Dean. “I can touch you, but there will be no feeling. It’s like touching a television, wanting to touch what is in the picture, but never feeling it.”_

_Dean blinked once, twice, then thrice. He waited for a punchline, for a big fucking sign to say “Happy April Fools!” or something of the like, but nothing happened. “This is a joke right?” he asked needlessly. Silence spoke volumes though, as Cas continued refusing to meet Dean’s eyes._

_He couldn’t touch Cas. No sex, no kissing, not even girlish cuddling and spooning. Dean was supposed to be living in fucking Heaven, and he was denied what he loved. It was some kind of sick joke. He stifled his anger though. No doubt Cas felt bad enough about his decision. It was for the best if Dean said nothing._

_“Well, we’ll just have to make it work out.”_

_“Who’s they?”_

_“Hell if I know, but we can work this out. Together. It’ll be our own private hunt.”_

_Cas’ shattered gaze glued back together, focusing back on Dean. “Sure.”_

_Dean walked up to Cas, putting a consoling hand on Cas’ shoulder, despite the lack of sensation. He hoped the gesture itself would console him “It’s going to be okay, Cas. You’ll see.” At this point, Dean wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince; Cas or himself._

_Heaven was Hell. As paradoxical as that sounded, it was the God’s honest truth. Happy memories were supposed to be playing on loop in his little slice of paradise, but it seemed like his memories were mocking him. Heaven was taunting him._

_Most of his happy memories involved Cas in some way. Every once in a while, he’d have a reprieve and tour down happy lane with a young Sam or with his mom. Even then though, his memories felt hollow and forced. Sam wasn’t the carefree youth from his memories anymore; he was a grown man and Dean was proud of what he had become. Despite the mistakes he’d made, the bonds of trust he’d broken, and the roads he’d burnt, Dean was still proud of him._

_His pride was only bolstered when Cas came in to deliver updates. Every time he dropped in, he came with nothing but good news. Sam found a girl, Sam was getting serious, Sam was getting married._

_Dean could not be happier for his little Sammy. He had always known Sam would find someone to care for, someone to grow old with. It had always been in his cards._

_He only wished he had been there to see Sam’s face light up upon seeing his bride walk down the aisle. It tore Dean up that he wasn’t there for the boy he had raised on the most important day in his life. He listened with great care as Cas recounted every detail of the wedding. What Sam had looked like, what Sarah had looked like, their first dance as husband and wife - no detail was missed. Dean was unashamed to say he cried like a baby._

_The time between Cas’ visits was uneventful and too boring for Dean’s taste. He could imagine sleeping with Cas, his warm body curled up beside his own, his imagination running free, but it could not fill the hole that had begun to manifest in his existence._

_Cas was feeling it too from what Dean could tell, though he would never admit it. At one point, he had forgotten he couldn’t touch Dean and had tried to kiss him out of reflex. It had felt like nothing, not even the whisper of Cas’ breath on his face to acknowledge he was there._

_It made Dean’s skin crawl with desire. An itch that could never be scratched no matter how hard he wished for it to be otherwise. Cas would never cave to sending him down. Time up in the clouds passed differently than on Earth though, so Dean wasn’t sure how long it had been since he died in his bed. Needless to say, his body was probably burned by now. As miraculous as Cas was, he couldn’t create a body out of thin air, else he wouldn’t have had to possess Jimmy._

_When he heard about Sam’s children, it was the final straw._

_Dean had to figure out another way to go down. No angel would talk to him, since he and his brother were seen as no-good hooligans, except for one._

_It didn’t take Dean long to find Joshua again. The road was easier to find now that Zachariah wasn’t pursuing him. The garden looked much the same as it had last time; every flower in full bloom, their scents mixing in the air into something biblical, the trees and shrubs so green it glowed._

_Its gardener appeared in front of Dean, as if he had been waiting for the man to show up eventually. He smiled serenely, folding his hands loosely. “It’s been a while. Welcome back Dean.”_

_“Yeah. Never thought I’d be back here.”_

_“God did.”_

_Dean raised his eyebrows. “Really.”_

_Joshua nodded once, unclasping his hands to brush a nearby flower lovingly. “I know of your troubles child, and I feel great remorse, but Heaven cannot be fixed. What Castiel and Naomi have done to it is irreversible. At least, not without the archangels.”_

_“To hell with those sons of bitches. If they were still alive, I’d kick their asses all over again. They got what they deserved.”_

_“You misunderstand. I’m on your side, as is God, but that is the truth of the matter.”_

_“Why can’t He fix it? Being all powerful… he’d be able to fix this place up no problem I’d bet.”_

_Joshua shook his head solemnly. “I’m afraid he’s no more inclined to help the angels any more than he was to help you.”_

_Dean ground his teeth together. He should’ve known the cowardly angel wouldn’t do anything to help. “You know, you sound like a broken record, spewing out the same crap you did last time I came looking for help.”_

_Raising a hand in good faith, Joshua said, “Now child, Heaven may be different, but there is still hope for you. You can get what you want, in a fashion.” Curiosity beat his anger as Dean silently waited for Joshua to go on. “I believe you’ve heard of reincarnation?”_

_“Of course. There’s tons of lore on it, but I’ve never actually seen it happen.”_

_“It’s a complicated process, but not impossible. Depending on the spirit, it can backfire. The risks are great, but if you are willing to take them, it can give you a life you’ve deemed impossible.”_

_Speechless, Dean resisted the urge to hug the gardener, instead opting to shake his hand in thanks. He couldn’t wait to tell Cas._

_Of course, when he did, the angel freaked out, saying they were not discussing it. Not now, not ever. Hurt and angry, Dean lashed out at him, saying it was unfair that while he had respected Cas’ decision, the angel wouldn’t even listen to Dean’s own suggestion. With a flutter of wings, Cas departed without another word._

_On his next visit, and the ones that followed suit, Dean ignored him._

_Cheers came up from the phantom TV long forgotten at a hotel located somewhere in a forgotten land. Warm eggnog was passed to him from Sam as the two sat in front of the boob toob, watching a football spiral through the air. The scent from the air fresheners hanging off the makeshift tree behind them gave Dean comfort._

_Cas left as silently as he entered._

_It had become a regular occurrence for Dean to go visit Joshua when he was certain Cas wasn’t around. The knowledge he needed about reincarnation was a valuable tool in the process, and if he knew how it worked, and how different he would be from his old self, he felt like he could convince Cas eventually. All he had to do was wait for an opening._

_The mechanics of the ritual itself seemed straightforward. All he needed was an angel who was willing to throw his soul back down. Dean wanted Cas to do it of course; a sort of poetic end to the life the angel saved him from, but he knew it would be nigh impossible to convince him to do it. He had acted out so defiantly that Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to change it._

_Finally, his day came, when Cas seemed like he was in an exceedingly good mood, all thoughts of the previous argument forgotten until Dean brought it up. Black clouds rolled over the sunshine on his face. Cas glared dangerously at Dean, who leveled his shoulders, not willing to back down._

_“It’s what I want, Cas.”_

_“And what about what I want, Dean?” Cas replied calmly, though he looked anything but. Quiet lightning buzzed underneath his skin; a force so strong, so powerful, legions of angels once had bowed and named him king. If he were anyone but Dean Winchester, Dean was certain he’d be zapped into nothing with just a click of Cas’ fingers. “Did it ever occur to you what effect this would have on me? On us?”_

_“I am thinking of us. My mind hasn’t changed.”_

_“You-“ Cas rounded on him, hand curling into a loose fist. He dropped it quickly, shaking out his hand and turning away, frustration turning his frame rigid._

_“It’s for the best. Believe me, Cas, I’ve thought about this long and hard.”_

_“You won’t remember me.” Cas whispered, voice gruffer than usual._

_Dean placed a consoling hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I will, I promise-“_

_“No, you can’t promise. You’ve never done this before, never seen the inner mechanisms.” Cas shrugged off Dean’s hand, blue fire raining down on the former hunter. “Everything is erased Dean. Everything that makes you Dean Winchester is thrown away until all that remains is the essence of the soul; its basic needs. Memories, wants, desires- they are nothing. You will be born as an entirely new person.”_

_Dean shook his head, needing Cas to understand. “You aren’t just a desire to me. I need you, angel. Not just in Heaven though, I need you on Earth.”_

_He couldn’t believe he was saying this, baring his fucking soul to Castiel. It went against everything he was taught as a young boy, but damn it all, it felt right. The need he had for the angel to be a part of his life was overpowering and nonnegotiable, Dean knew that. Cas had to know it too._

_Castiel had to understand why Dean had to be reborn._

_The angel huffed a laugh. “Words are easily said but harder to uphold. The sentiment is romantic, but it’s unrealistic. Facts cannot be overlooked, Dean. You will forget everything, no matter your resolve.”_

_“I bet I’ll surprise you.” Dean quipped, a small smirk forming on his lips. Cas didn’t return the emotion. “What about all those yahoos claiming to remember past lives?”_

_“Those. Are. Stories.” Cas enunciated, getting in Dean’s face. “I have extensive knowledge in this area, you only have stories.”_

_Steel wrapped around Dean’s spine making him stand taller. “Stories start from somewhere.”_

_“Not this time,” Cas rebutted._

_It seemed both were reluctant to move, but such was the nature of their arguments. It didn’t matter what they fought about; they always ended up laughing because of how pointless it was. Not this time though. They had been discussing the possibility of rebirth for so long that the most recent times Dean had brought it up were promptly ended with a flurry of wings._

_Dean thought it was something Cas would just need to think on, but every time he brought it up, it just made Cas madder and madder, until it escalated into this. It was the longest argument they’d ever had, and by far the most meaningful. It didn’t help that both Dean and Cas were conditioned to be stubborn. This was what happened when an unstoppable force met an immovable object._

_But they would not do this dance for eternity._

_Dean didn’t want to pull his ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card so early but he needed to do this, and Cas needed an extra push._

_“Look man, if you won’t do this for me, I know someone who will.”_

_Thunderclouds rolled over blue fire. “You wouldn’t.”_

_“You know I would.”_

_Cas surged forward, grabbing Dean by his jacket, his lips pulled back. “And what happens if your little plan fails? Did you even think for one second that I would be okay with this? With you willing to risk everything we have so delicately built just to have another frolic on Earth?” Cas’ face was swimming with anger, blue energy radiating through the corners of his eyes. The angel was beyond angry now; he was full-on pissed._

_But at the same time, he looked so terrified. There was only one time Dean had seen Cas this angry and this scared. Cas flung Dean, slamming the former hunter against a wall and suddenly, they weren’t in Dean’s room anymore, but the alley from so long ago. Rain spattered the pavement, breaths condensing in the air._

_“I’ve given you everything, and this is what you give to me?!”_

_How could he communicate what he needed Cas to understand? Dean wasn’t good with words; he relied more on action. There had to be something he could do to prove to Cas that everything would be all right, that no matter what happened to Dean, he would always find his way back to Cas._

_“Cas…”_

_Slowly, Dean reached up; grabbing Cas’ left arm and gripping it tight, the angel’s eyes darting to follow the motion. Using all that he could to put force in what he said, he fixed Cas with a look. He poured it all out. He could remember the crypt so vividly, the pounding of Cas’ fist on his face, the uncertainty of what was happening, the need to have his Cas back…_

_“I need you.”_

_It had the same effect. The thunderclouds rolled away, revealing azure eyes. Slowly, the fists loosened, releasing the folds of fabric from their confinement. The lights were switching on, and Cas understood. With three simple words, it was made clear that Dean would always find his way to Cas; find his way home._

_It by no means made it easier on Cas though. Dean wanted him to throw his soul back to Earth. He knew Cas would find the right parents; find the right setting for him to live out his new life. No other angel would guarantee that._

_“You’d better find me again.” Dean smirked._

_Cas nodded, face serious. “I’ll watch over you. I’ll always come to you when you call.”_

_“I don’t doubt it, angel.”_

_Castiel smoothed down the wrinkles he made in Dean’s jacket, slowly, methodically, stalling for time. This was a temporary goodbye, a necessary one, but it hurt all the same. God, Dean was going to miss Cas. Tipping his chin up, Dean captured Cas’ lips with his own. One last kiss between Dean Winchester and the angel that raised him from the Pit- his Castiel._

_“Don’t keep me waiting,” he joked, pressing his forehead to Cas’. The angel closed his eyes briefly, cupping either side of Dean’s face._

_He’d see him again, for sure. Even if he didn’t remember, even if it sounded as corny as hell, Dean knew that somehow he would remember. The being that had changed his entire existence would not something easily forgotten._

_So it wasn’t a goodbye, not really._

 

Cold water splashed over Dean’s face, forcing him to bolt awake, gasping for air. He felt disoriented, like he had been through a washing machine on maximum speed. His vision doubled, his heart pounded loudly. 

Jo was hovering above him, an ice bucket held in her hands. Her tense face relaxed when she saw him come to. “Oh good God man. Don’t do that to ne. I swear you looked as pale as a sheet of paper.”

“What… just happened?” 

He rubbed his head, trying to understand what he had just seen. _You know what you saw, why deny it?_ A voice inside his head reasoned.

_Shut up._

Jo bit her lip, lowering herself to Dean’s level, the bucket placed to the side. “What did you see?”

Water dripped over his face. The visions played again inside his head; that’s what they were, right? Dean Winchester talking to him through the veil, into the body they both at one point possessed. But no, it couldn’t be that simple. Surely there was some trick.

A sharp slap to the face brought him back again to see Jo’s look of irritated panic. “Come on, this is important numb-nuts. What did you see?”

“Death. My death, except not mine. I..” Dean swallowed hard, putting his head in his hands. Was the room spinning? It had to be. How did one breathe, again? It was easy right? Just in through the mouth, out through the nose. He’d been doing it since birth, so why was it so hard right now?

Everything felt real. All of it. From the raw emotions to the ground beneath his feet. 

Dean rubbed a hand over his stomach, making sure there wasn’t a hole there from the blade wound. 

Everything had felt real because it was real. It had happened to him once, a lifetime ago, to a man who’d been forgotten by all but the one being who carried on despite his absence. 

“Where did you get that photo?” Dean asked slowly, quietly. 

Knowing which one he was referring to, she picked it up, turning it over in her hands to reveal the picture once more. “It’s my grandfather Samuel Winchester with his brother Dean and his… boyfriend Castiel.”

How could this be? He looked exactly like the Dean in the picture. Not even an exaggeration. Nothing was different between the two of them, aside from their eyes. The one in the picture looked tired, like he’d seen too much, lived through it all. 

Or did his own eyes look like that now?

“How-?” Dean tried to speak, but found he didn’t even know where to begin. 

Jo took his hand, pulling him up off the ground. “I know who will have your answers.”

 

He was expecting some stereotypical retirement centre; bland walls filled with vacant faces. The place where Sam Winchester had chosen to spend the rest of his life however was anything but. In fact, unless one was actually looking for the building, no one would be able to see it. 

Set mostly underground, or so Jo said, not much was visible aside from a railing that led down a foot to the entrance. Vines and budding flowers fought for dominance on the roof, intertwining to create indeterminate patterns. Trees in bloom and freshly greened shrubs dominated the sides of the gravel path, clearing to reveal the river, flowing swiftly for this time of year. 

Jo walked down the scant few steps to the entrance, Dean following close behind. Pulling the door open, Jo fished out an old-fashioned flashlight she had found in the storage locker. With the light leading the duo, they descended into darkness.

Definitely not like any retirement centre Dean had ever heard of.

Following close behind Jo, and using the iron bar for guidance, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been here before. Nothing could be seen, aside from the brick walls surrounding him, illuminated dimly by the flashlight. 

It wasn’t long before Dean heard the thump of Jo’s shoes hitting pavement, Dean joining her shortly. 

“So, you gonna tell me where we are?” Dean asked, his voice bouncing around.

A big creak of a lever being pulled sounded off, then the lights flickered and electricity hummed happily through the wires. The place lit up, the darkness chased away by the soft yellow tungsten bulbs. Dean felt his jaw drop, the sense of déjà vu tugging at his mind.

“Welcome to the Men of Letters bunker.”

Dreams were becoming reality, Dean’s mind slowly unraveling as more became known. He moved cautiously down the next flight of stairs, wary that he might still be hallucinating, but when he reached out and touched the rich wood desk holding an extremely old telephoning system, it stayed solid. 

As he moved through the bunker, touching more to make it real, his heart thumped louder. Everything, from the world map table, to the boxes containing untold artifacts, he had dreamed of. All of it right down to the tiniest detail. Dean swallowed.

A soft hand was placed on his shoulder, and he turned to face Jo. She smiled gently, seeing the wonder and panic etched all over his face. “This way.”

They climbed through tunnels, up and down ladders, past empty rooms, empty chambers and empty corridors. Not another soul was kicking around, but every room they passed looked inhabited. 

Jo explained everything, like a tour guide leading a tourist around the Louvre. The bunker was a base of operation, where hunters of all ages came and went. Most didn’t have families to speak of, so the bunker acted as a home, the hunters all adopting each other. It was a home away from home for the lost and broken, for those who had lost everything. Wanderers with a mission. 

Occasionally, there would be meetings, Sam or more likely Charlie appearing to give out lessons, or to recount the week’s activities. Sometimes, there would even be guest lecturers, supernatural allies who were willing to give a few tricks of the trade. One of the most frequent guests was Castiel.

It made sense. Those random moments he would disappear took on a different meaning for Dean. He sighed, rubbing his head. What he wouldn’t give for some alcohol. 

The last room they came to stood out from the rest. It was a grandiose door, almost too ostentatious for such a modest bunker. A frame surrounded it filled with the same chicken scratch Dean had seen on those boxes. The door stood as the last silent guardian for the man behind it. Jo looked at Dean expectantly.

He had been certain before that he wanted to meet the man that he had dreamed about for so many years. Now only a few steps away from him, trepidation stayed his feet. It was as if he was holding Pandora’s Box, wanting so bad to see what was inside the golden exterior, but knowing his life would never be the same again. His old life was hanging by a thread, a new one being built.

_Deep breath Smith._ He raised his hand to knock. 

Jo clasped his hand and brought it back down. “Just go in. He’s been waiting to see you again for a long time.”

It was now or never. What could possibly go wrong? Dean put a hand on the door and pushed, surprised when the door betrayed its look with its lightness. 

The room inside was airy and white, the opposite of what the rest of the bunker felt. While the rooms were closed off but cozy, Sam’s room felt impersonal in its neatness. It looked lived-in, frames hanging on the walls in perfect symmetry, a bookcase filled with books arranged just so, the bed made neatly so as not to betray the previous night, the clothes hanging in the open closet in their proper place. Nothing was out of place. The only thing that gave character to the bare room was the massive, wall-sized window. 

Illuminated by the afternoon sun, Sam Winchester sat hunched in his chair, his back to Dean. From his dreams, Dean was shocked to see what remained of the hulking moose of a man, his frame appearing dwarfed by the giant chair that kept him alive. Breathing tubes were hooked up to giant tanks, snaking around to continue giving life to a wearied soul. An IV poked from paper-thin skin, almost empty, his thin white hair brushed back. 

Slowly, Dean maneuvered through Sam’s room, his legs shaking. The closer he got, the more he noticed. The infinite lines running over Sam’s skin, the giant age spots dotting his flesh. It was almost impossible to believe this was what the famous Sam had changed into. If it wasn’t for the long legs folded awkwardly like Waluigi or the stupidly long hair, Dean would have run out of the room, yelling at Jo for wasting his time on some elaborate prank.

It was only when Dean was right beside Sam’s chair that he looked up from the floor to Dean’s face.

Ten years disappeared, tears building in Sam’s aged eyes. “Dean?”

He knew Sam wasn’t seeing him, just as Cas never did. It was Dean Winchester they wanted, not Dean Smith. 

“Heya Sammy,” he said softly. 

Tears tracked down his cheeks, a frail hand reaching out towards Dean, shaking. “It’s good to see you.”

_Should I act like myself, or this Winchester character? What would he say?_ “Y-Yeah. You too, little bro.”

A wheeze rattled the mask on Sam’s face. “I know you’re not my brother, Dean.”

Dean blinked, thrown back a step. “But I thought-“

“Now that’s a danger.” Sam’s eyes though aged, still had the spark in them that Dean remembered. “It’s true that you and Dean Winchester are practically one in the same, but you’re two different people.”

“Okay, now I’m very confused.”

“Well, that’s why you came here isn’t it? For answers?” At Dean’s sullen nod, Sam smiled. He coughed, fogging up his mask, and adjusted himself in his seat. “I knew you would one day, and I’ve been preparing myself for such an encounter, but now that you’re finally here, all my preparation has been for naught.”

“You and Cas spend too much time together.”

More fog appeared on his mask, followed by more coughing. Dean bit his lip, feeling his heart clench at seeing Sam’s plight. “I guess we do. He’s the only one who can help me get from place to place. It’s frustrating to be trapped in my own body, but Cas helps in any way he can. “But you didn’t come here for my sorrows. You came for your own. Perhaps you should sit.” 

He gestured to the bed behind him, and Dean moved to help Sam. He waved him away though, insisting that Dean take a seat. There was a lot of explaining to do. 

“No doubt you’ve remembered everything by now, or else my granddaughter would not have brought you here. Well, I suppose memories are an incorrect term to describe what you’ve seen. More like, they are visions. 

“From what Cas has explained to me, it seems that Dean Winchester died to give you life. Such a sacrifice leaves an imprint on the soul. It’s kind of like reading an old, tattered book. It has a history with its previous owners, one that can be recalled through the crack in the spine, the bend of the pages and the scribbles in the columns. You may not know the entirety of that persons life story, but you can gather enough information from what you see to fill in the blanks. 

The cracked spine indicates it was well loved and well read; possibly a favourite to the previous owner. The turned down pages indicate significant passages, something that had meaning to the person. The book is your link to this person, just as your soul is a link to Dean. You get all his thoughts, feelings and memories because of this shared item, but, like the book, it does not mean you are the same. 

“It can be inferred that you have the same taste in literature so on the outside you appear the same. As the old saying goes, never judge a book by its cover. But you create new memories with this book, turn down your own pages, crack the spine more, and add your own footnotes. What the book went through before will never be forgotten, but it does not define you.”

Silence passed between the two as Dean absorbed what he said, Sam’s tubes whirring as they worked, his breathing laboured as his lungs continue to thrive. Dean ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward. If what Sam said was true, then Dean had freaked out over nothing. But it couldn’t have been that simple. Could it? It was all so confusing. 

“I can only imagine what you’re going through. I’m surprised you haven’t talked to Cas about it all.” A break to breathe and cough. “But knowing how stubborn you are, you probably freaked.”

“You don’t know me,” Dean fired back without his usual vehemence. 

“No, but Jo tells me all about you, as does Cas. Seems you’re quite the stubborn boy.” 

Dean can’t argue with that, so he stays silent on that topic. “I chased him away.”

“I know.”

“I-“ Dean licked his lips, feeling jittery. “I got mad. He saved my life and I threw it in his face. I couldn’t deal with it, especially since he called me Winchester. If I’m not him and he’s not me, then how come we are so alike?”

Sam mulled it over, coughing and retching. “Souls attract like-minded people.”

“No, no, that’s not it. I look exactly like him. Nothing is different about us. Not a freckle.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed that people who are not related can look almost identical? Look-a-likes used as stunt doubles for instance? Genetics is funny that way.”

Dean shook his head, unable to accept it. “Look, man, it’s just way too coincidental.”

“I’m sure it was your looks that drew Cas in, but if it weren’t for your personality and the way you’ve shaped your soul, Cas wouldn’t have stayed. Like it or not, he likes you for who you are, not what you think he thinks you are. I know Cas, better than you, so I can say this with certainty.”

Of course it was so simple when Sam said it so reasonably. Through age came wisdom; his body may have been made obsolete, but his mind was sharp as ever. 

“Well, shit,” Dean half-whispered to himself before facepalming. Sam wheezed a chuckle, his chair rocking back. “It’s not funny! I’ve pretty much chased away the only guy who ever – “ Cutting himself off, he made an irritated noise, flopping down to ruin the immaculately made bed. “I screwed up, Sammy.”

“Nope, wrong again. This is Cas, Dean. He’ll always be there for you. In fact, I bet he’s waiting around to talk to you again. All you have to do is call him.”

“How?” Dean asked the ceiling, watching the fan above rotate round and round. More coughs.

“You know how.” He coughed and coughed, and retched. Dean got up to check on Sam who waved away his concern. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“You’ve been coughing almost nonstop since I got here. You’re not just fine.”

“I’m old is all. I just need to nap.” Sam fiddled with the IV, shooing Dean away with his eyes. “Go get your good ol’ fashioned lover boy, Queen.”

Nothing Dean could say would come close to what Sam had given him, so he kissed his forehead in thanks, a small tear falling from Sam’s eye. He was no doubt remembering his brother, and Dean was okay with that.

Promising Sam to be right back, he left the room, needing some privacy for what he was about to do. Jo had disappeared, probably out in the main room doing god knew what. Hopefully, Sam was right in thinking that Cas would be willing to accept Dean’s apology, or else he would have wasted the one good thing he had. Begging wasn’t his style, but he was ready to do whatever it took to get his angel back. 

_Nut up or shut up Smith._

“Cas…” he started hesitantly, wetting his suddenly dry lips. “You got your ears on?” 

Pausing to wring his hands, Dean waited for inspiration to come to him. It was uncomfortable enough, talking to thin air, but to do so for something so intimate to him… Good thing the corridor was empty, or else he might have punched whoever was around. 

“Look man, I’ve never done this kind of thing before. Not really the praying type, y’know. Figured you’d have to be a bible thumper for that kind of shit to get through. But uh, that’s what I wanted to talk about.” _Wow, run at the mouth more why don’t you._ “Can we just - can we talk? Face to face? None of this tin can phone crap. I feel like I’m talking to the invisible man here.” He stopped and held his breath, waiting for some sign Cas was listening. 

He didn’t have to wait long.

With a rustle of wings, the angel appeared, prompt as ever. Dean thought he was going to pass out with relief. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello Dean,” Cas replied, his shoulders stiff. 

He stood rigidly, unmoving except for the swinging of his arms, hands brushing over his beige coat (it was time he bought a new one; who knew how old this one was). Dean was tempted to point this out, even make a witty remark or two, but seeing the cold detached look on Cas’ face made him reconsider. 

Saying he was going to fix things to Sam was easy; actually acting on it was hard. He knew from past experience (or Winchester’s experience) that Cas was always willing to listen and accept his blunders. Especially since he’d made quite a few of his own. Yet it was still hard for Dean to admit he was in the wrong. Pride was a boon for his profession, but a curse for his life. 

The lapse between words exchanged could have been mere seconds, but Cas’ irritation was bolstered with time. “Is there a reason you called me, or should I just leave? My existence is not something for you to toy with.”

A lump formed in Dean’s throat the size of an avocado pit. Cas would never harm him physically; this he knew. Words could cut as deep as swords though and Cas had always been an excellent wordsmith. Maybe Castiel was tired of waiting, of being let down by him. Maybe he wanted it all to end, but Dean could only speculate. He wasn’t a mind reader.

This was his one chance to fix things. He needed only to take the plunge.

He didn’t start to speak until Castiel turned to leave. It only struck him later that he didn’t need to give Dean a chance to speak. His wings were more than sufficient at carrying him away; if he had really wanted to get out of there, he would have just flapped his wings and been gone in the blink of an eye. Cas wanted to fix this as much as Dean did, he only needed to give Dean the kick to get started.

“I screwed up, I know. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did after that whole shit storm. I... panicked.”

Cas sighed, turning around to face Dean again. “It’s my fault as well. I should’ve evaluated the scenario more carefully before I opened my mouth. Calling you Winchester was out of line, I realize that.”

Dean cut him off before he could continue. “I spoke to Sam. I know what you’re going to say, and I understand why you did it. At first I thought you were only with me because I reminded you so much of this Dean you lost, and that somehow you had combined and created this sick fantasy. So I freaked. But hey, I’m only human, and what I came up with made sense at the time.”

“I know. I’ve had little contact with humanity these past few decades, I forgot sometimes you apes react before thinking.” Cas shook his head lightly, eyes softening. 

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just compare me to an ape,” Dean said with a pout. Music filled the corridor as Cas let loose one of his rare laughs and Dean turned his frown upside down. “So, we cool then?”

“I don’t know how the temperature is significant, but our standing hasn’t changed.”

“Cas it was-“ Dean began, but stopped when Cas rolled his eyes, his sarcasm accentuated by the motion. So sassy this angel was. 

“Yes I forgive you Dean. Well, almost.” Fixating his gaze on Dean, his eyes bore into Dean’s, taking on a mischievous glint.

“What.”

Being forceful, and as always, knowing what he wanted, Cas grabbed Dean by the lapels and dragged him down the corridor toward one of the rooms. Kicking down the door, Dean felt the familiar feel of déjà vu. 

Nothing had changed, though so many years had passed. Guns still lined the walls, each one neatly polished and hung with care. A record player stood still but hardly unused, records strewn about from use. The table was littered with paper, a familiar scrawl covering over their white surfaces. 

Dean loved it. 

Cas pushed him in, his body falling on top of the mattress, shortly joined by Cas’ own. 

“I believe you owe me a favour.”

 

Sometime during the cuddling that was ritual after hot and heavy sex, Dean dozed off. 

His body needed it though since he hadn’t slept well in months. He was certain he would’ve spent the day sleeping if Cas hadn’t shaken him awake. Despite always waking up early in the morning for work, Dean hated them. So he groaned and rolled over, ignoring Cas’ increasingly persistent methods of waking him up. 

Finally, Cas did the immature thing and plugged Dean’s nose while clamping his mouth shut. Flailing his limbs, Dean woke up and rolled over to pin Cas beneath him. 

“All right you fucker, you asked for it.” 

Cas may have been an angel, but his body experienced all the same sensations as a regular human. That included tickling. And Dean knew his sensitive spots thanks to Winchester.

The angel at his mercy, Dean’s fingers danced over Cas’ bare skin, delighting in the musical trills he sounded as he squirmed underneath Dean. 

“S-Stop!” Cas hiccupped, tears of mirth gathering at the corner of his eyes. “I have- no stop!- a reason for- damn it, _Dean!”_

“What’s the matter Cas? Unable to take the heat?” Dean taunted, his fingers skilled at finding all the sensitive skin. It took a while but finally, around Cas’ laughter, he heard the hard knock of flesh on wood. 

“Hey you two! Stop canoodling and get out here! You have a guest!” Jo shouted through the door, not wanting to walk in on something she shouldn’t see. 

Momentarily distracted by his friend, Dean found himself pinned beneath Cas. The tickle torture continued, making Dean feel like he was a kid again as he laughed so hard, his sides hurt. 

Jo, growing more impatient, kicked down the door like the big bad wolf she was.. She put both hands on her hips, glaring at the two of them, looking every bit like the little sister who got left behind.

“Okay, yeah you’re cute. And you’re happy to be together again, whoop-dee-fucking-doo. Rum’s on me guys, but later. You have a guest.”

The two men exchanged glances, neither one expecting any visitor. “Surely you are mistaken Johanna.”

Her glare grew to Medusa deadliness at the use of her whole name. “Would I have busted down your door if I was wrong? I know Dean knows him at least. It’s your old boss friend, the one who always looks so nervous?”

Dean furrowed his brow, pushing Cas off him. “Ed?”

“Yeah that guy. I don’t know how he found our bunker, but you must have told him so get him out of here before I RetCon his ass.”

“This isn’t _Torchwood,_ Jo!” Dean called after her, but it bounced off her back as she exited the room, stomping down the corridor. “I don’t understand. I didn’t tell him anything about this place. Hell, he shouldn’t even know I’m here.”

Cas sat back on his heels, tilting his head in that adorable way. “Who is this man?”

“Edward Temple. He’s my boss and friend.” Dean sighed, propping himself up on his elbows to regard Cas. 

Cas straightened his head, squinting his eyes as the wheels in his head turned. “Edward Temple? Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Dean shrugged, swinging his legs off the bed. “I probably mentioned him to you once.”

“No, you never have.”

“Well, I must have. How else could you know it?”

“Dean, I have a photographic memory that extends to the beginning of time. I remember everything, and my memory is flawless. You have never mentioned him to me before.”

Dean shrugged, padding across the floor to find his discarded clothes. “Well I’m stumped Sherlock. You tell me.”

Sitting silently as Dean got dressed, Cas was the perfect subject for an artist. Dean only wished he could draw anything aside from stickmen, so he could capture the angel on paper. 

Dean was fully dressed by the time Cas clicked his fingers. If he were a cartoon character, a light bulb would have appeared over his head. “I understand now.”

“Don’t keep me waiting. Tell me.”

“I’ve never heard his name before.”

Palm smacked against face as Dean fought the urge to say _you don’t say._

Cas glared at him sideways. “Let me finish. I’ve never heard it before, but it’s familiar to me because it sounds a lot like another name.”

“Okay…”

“Ever heard of a man named Chuck Shurley?”

Dean considered the name. “No. Should I have?”

Biting his lip, Cas asked, “are you sure? It should be within the memories of Dean Winchester. Perhaps he referred to Chuck by the penname Carver Edlund?”

“Oh yeah, the guy who wrote those _Supernatural_ books,” Dean replied. He tried to conguer up a memory of Chuck, but found nothing. He could see the ratty interior of his house, could smell the pungent tang of alcohol, but the man’s face remained hidden, as if in shadow.

“I remember Winchester was not a fan of those things. I bet if I dug around enough, I could find them and see if all my visions are accurate.” Dean scratched his chin, feeling the beginnings of stubble. “What does that have to do with Ed?”

Cas bit his lip, looking to the side. “I’m not sure yet. But I know they are connected. Maybe from the same family… No that’s not it.” 

Castiel jumped out of bed, his clothes wrapping around his body as he glided over to the table. Flicking around, he picked up a piece of paper, and turned it over, his other hand picking up a pen. In big letters, he wrote CHUCK SHURLEY, CARVER EDLUND and EDWARD TEMPLE. Dean, unsure what to do, just watched as Cas gazed down, as if the paper could just tell him the answer. He grew still, forgetting even to breathe, but since he was an angel he didn’t need to anyways. 

Dean was ready to slap him awake when Cas reeled back, eyes wide. Dean looked at him questioningly. 

“Son of a bitch.” Cas breathed.

“Such a foul mouth for such a holy creature.”

“I never would have thought… never in all my years that He would be… right there.” Cas turned his wide eyes to Dean before scrawling something on the paper and taking off. 

Dean looked around helplessly, grunting in irritation. He turned to march out the door, when the paper caught his eye. Picking it up, he looked it over, seeing that Cas had drawn circles and lines. Temple was circled and connected to Shurley, whereas ‘ward’ was crossed out and Ed also circled and connected to Edlund. 

Could it be possible?

But if he was still alive, without looking a day older than what Dean saw in his vision, does that mean he’s like Cas?

_No,_ he thought. _Cas knows every angel in existence. And he wouldn’t have reacted the way he did._

What was it Cas said? He never thought he would be….

No not he. _He._ As in-

‘Son of a bitch’ was right. 

Leaving the paper where it was, Dean turned tail and ran to catch up with Cas.

~~~~~~~~

Ed was sitting calm as you like at the table, drinking a glass of scotch as he gazed intently at the map splayed in front of him. Or, he supposed it wasn’t _really_ Ed. He had gone by many names in his day. Edward Temple, Carver Edlund, Chuck Shurley, but his real name was…

“Father.” Cas breathed. 

Ed smiled up at his son. “Heya Castiel. Dean.” 

For an almighty being who had created the world, he could have chosen a more dramatic greeting. Raising his glass, Ed toasted the two of them, taking a quick sip from it. 

Cas puffed up like a mother bird defending her nest. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching the globe for you for over half a century. I’ve rebelled, I’ve fallen, I’ve died all because of you. And now, I finally meet you face to face and all you can say is ‘Hey’?!”

Ed sighed, swirling his drink. “I know this must be difficult for you-“

“Understatement,” Castiel interrupted, his ice blue eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. 

“…But. I had my reasons.” Castiel snorted; such an inelegant noise from an elegant creature. Ed crooked a bigger smile at him. “Would you believe me if I said it was for your own good?”

The bitch face Castiel gave him was one that Sam would have been proud of. “I fail to see how not helping out,” Dean jumped in with his few cents, surprising Cas, “during the fucking apocalypse or during the reign of Dick was for his own good.” He glanced sideways at Cas, seeing him give a slight nod of approval.

“Who was it that gave you the map to the battlefield again? Or saved Castiel three times? Or brought your sorry ass back to Earth instead of the various afterlives you visited?” He paused, tapping a finger against his chin as if contemplating the answer. “Oh, right. Me.” He smiled with stark white teeth before downing another gulp of liquid.

“You could have stopped it. All of it.” Cas inputted. “Lucifer rising, Dean’s death, even the Hell gate opening. But you didn’t. You drank and wrote your gospels. Did it ever occur to you that the world needed you? How could you just take a back seat? These are your creations! Your _children._ Shouldn’t you care!?” 

Dean could tell Cas was trying to remain calm, but the emotions swirling through him were too strong, too wild to contain. He was just an angel, he wasn’t meant to feel so intensely. Moving to stand directly beside him, Dean grabbed his hand, giving it a supportive squeeze.

A second went by. Then a minute. Then five. Ed slowly drank from his glass, ice cubes clinking in the silence. 

“Of course I care,” Ed whispered, emotional pain making his voice rough. 

“You have an odd way of showing it pal,” Dean sneered. 

Ed twitched his eyebrows up. “Tell me something, kid. You got your memories back, yes?” Dean scrunched his eyebrows, and Ed took it as an affirmative. Eyes swiveling to Cas, he continued. “What did you do, sunshine? While he was getting bombarded with his old memories and he couldn’t tell the difference between himself and Winchester? I’m not nitpicking, I just want to know.”

Dean and Cas traded looks before Cas answered. “I let him figure it out for himself.”

“And why would you do that?” 

A pause. “Because… I love him.” 

Dean’s neck practically snapped looking back over at Cas. He knew without Cas saying the words that he loved Dean. It was evident in every kiss, in every touch, and in every gesture. Even when they were having sex it was as clear as day, because it wasn’t just filled with lust. There were more complicated touchy feely emotions underneath it all; emotions that Dean would have never touched with a ten foot pole before Cas. 

To him, past and present, emotions were seen as a weakness. To let himself be vulnerable in front of others was a big no-no. Now, he knew it was okay to feel, because feeling meant he was living. Cas had shown him as such.

“Exactly. You wanted him to grow, to learn, and to discover himself. You didn’t want to intervene because you wanted him to discover himself on his own. How else would he become whole? If you picked him up and dusted him off, Dean wouldn’t have known what was real and what was implanted. It’s the same deal here, Cas.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s about Free Will, my most precious gift to humanity. It’s not something I just give away- you have to earn it for yourself. And that means you’ve gotta experience the highs and lows of life. You have to learn how to make choices and learn that no matter what your intentions may be, there will never be a perfect outcome. If I had stopped you from doing all that you did, what would you have learned?”

Cas could only stare, stunned into silence. 

Dean however, still had a question. “Why are you here now?” he asked, earning a thoughtful glance from Ed. “I mean, you’ve been happy to sit on your thumbs all this time, acting human for I don’t know how long. What changed?”

Setting his glass down on the table, Ed interlaced his fingers over his stomach. He looked down at the ten digits and fiddled his thumbs as if marveling at the simplicity and redundancy of such an action. 

“Everyone has their time Dean. Some have it coming far down the road, and for some, it’s practically staring them in the face. Either way, when it hits you, it feels too early, because there are always going to be things we regret not doing. Suddenly, we have no time and more than anything, we want to fix our mistakes.” Taking his eyes off his fingers, he looked at Dean and Cas, his gaze weary. “I did wrong by my children, especially Michael and Lucifer, and I want to change what happened to them, but I can’t. What I can do is at least make one child’s life a little bit easier.”

The room got quiet again as Ed stared only at Dean. Like he was waiting for him to say something, the same way Cas had stared at him back when they first met- like it should be obvious what was happening and what he had to do. He was just as confused now as he was back then. 

Turning his head, Dean looked to Cas to see if he understood. The angel looked shell-shocked; his face was frozen in a wide-eyed expression, his gaze fixed on his Father. 

The riddles and philosophical discussions were really getting to Dean now. “How about you stop beating around the bush and just come out and say whatever it is you have to say before I find a reason to kick your ass.”

Yup, Dean had just threatened to beat up God. Yup, he would probably get thrown around the block before he could blink since it was God but he didn’t care. He wanted answers _now._

If he had offended Ed, it didn’t show. “It’s you, Dean-o. He might not have thought I was listening when he was praying, but I was. I see how much he cares for you and how far he has come because of you. I know what he wants. And it’s you. So, I’m offering a one-time deal here Dean. Either you continue living out your life on Earth and wait to be reborn again after you die, or –“ Ed paused dramatically, making sure both boys were listening to him, “- you can become an angel.”

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest, beating out a rhythm so loud he was certain everyone else could hear it. This was no small offer. “What’s the price?” He asked. 

Even though he was born as a Smith in this lifetime, a small part of him was still a Winchester. And nothing good ever happened to Winchesters without some sacrifice on their part. Life was their prostitute: only giving when they gave too much.

“Nothing.” At Dean’s incredulous stare, Ed raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I mean it. I don’t want anything from you Dean, except your promise that you will look after him. This is your choice, but I’m only offering it this one time. If you say no, that’s it.”

Yes was what his heart wanted to say but his brain stopped him. There was still that stupid little voice in his mind that wanted to have input. _It would benefit you no doubt, but what if you screwed up? What if it turned out that Cas looked at you one day and regretted everything? What if he doesn’t love you as much as you think he does?_ He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. 

A gentle squeeze in his hand brought him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Cas staring at him, his eyes so open, so honest, that it quieted the voice. Everything Castiel had done, he’d done for Dean. He could have walked away and forgotten about Dean when he died, could’ve just left him in Heaven, or even stayed out of his new life. 

Instead, he had waited for the opportune moment, when he was certain Dean could accept him back into his life. This wasn’t a high school crush or even a one-night-stand. This was for life. Cas had already shown his commitment and now it was Dean’s turn. 

Squishing his doubts to nothing, he faced Ed. “Do it.” 

Ed sighed in relief, getting up out of the chair. 

“Wait,” Cas spoke up, his eyes urgent. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t _have_ to. I _want_ to.”

“I could become human.”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I remember the future Zachariah showed me all those years ago.” 

At this, Cas blinked and looked away. Dean knew that the angel knew what he was talking about. Grabbing his shoulders, Dean stood in front of him, trying to catch Cas’ eye again so he would listen. 

“Being human ultimately destroyed you, and I was what started it all. You don’t have to give up what you are just for me.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

“I’m taking the lesser of two evils right now.”

Blue eyes snapped to his, sharpening with focus. “Maybe in your eyes.”

“You’re not becoming human Cas, I will not be responsible for breaking you again.”

Cas licked his lips, eyes darting around. “We can stay the way we are.”

“I’m going to die again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday I will. And we’ll have to start this whole process all over. I’m not putting you through that again.”

“It wasn’t – “

“Don’t lie to me, Castiel,” Dean said. Castiel stilled; Dean never called him by his full name. “I saw your eyes when I brought up Winchester. I saw how broken you looked. Even though it has been fifty years since his death, you still hurt just thinking about it. As a human, I’m fragile. Being an angel would change me sure, but the pros outweigh the cons here.”

A heavy silence fell on everyone, Ed looking uncertainly between the two of them. Cas dropped his gaze from Dean’s eyes; focusing on something only he could see. Small drops rolled off of Cas’ face, hitting the floor without a noise. 

Taking Cas’ hand in his own, Dean gave it a gentle squeeze. “Look at me, babe.” The angel shook his head. “Damn it, Cas, look at me.” His eyes slid past Dean’s face, then back down. Dean licked his lips, shifting his weight on his feet. “What do you have against me being an angel?”

“It’s just… you’ve taught me everything I know to make me into a better angel. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this as an obligation.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing?” Dean huffed out a laugh, surprising himself. “You stupid sonofabitch, when are you going to get it? A relationship is all about giving and taking from both ends. I give, you take and I take when you give. I’m doing this for you not because I feel I have to, but because it’s something I _want_ to do. Because I think what we have is real, and it’s worth something. I’m giving you myself, entirely. You’ll have me until you get sick of my face.”

During his speech Cas was shaking his head slowly, still refusing to look directly at him. 

“Damn it. I...” 

It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was to say it, but Dean was not known for baring his soul in front of, well _anyone._ Everything inside him was screaming to stop, to turn back before he said something he’ll regret. But he knew that there was nothing wrong with this. It was nothing to be ashamed of. 

“I love you too,” he finally whispered, his voice catching at the end, and damn it he would not cry. He would not.

Too bad his thoughts were overpowered. Tears rolled down his face, mingling with Castiel’s on the floor, but he could not look away from Cas. The angel’s face came into view, the picture of astonishment, his mouth partially opened, his breath escaping in short pants. Dean wanted an eyeful of his angel, but he couldn’t see anything clearly when Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s, sending so much emotion through Dean it tingled to his toes. 

In that moment, he knew he had won. 

Ed awkwardly cleared his throat, breaking apart the heated kiss. “Sorry fellas but I don’t have time.” 

And he truly did sound sorry. Castiel nodded, moving away from Dean with reluctance, but never taking his eyes off of him. 

“Now, this is going to hurt, but just roll with it. Remember why you’re doing it.” 

Taking a deep breath, Dean nodded curtly, steeling himself for what may come. Stepping into his personal space, Ed pressed his palm over Dean’s chest right above his heart.

To say it burned would be like saying pie was only okay. The heat that Ed transferred to him didn’t just burn; it seared into his mind, body and soul, burning everything away with white-hot flames. Everything inside him was on fire. It felt like a sun was pushing its way inside him, too big for such a small container, but it forced itself to fit. His skin itched as the sun pushed out, trying to break free, but it stayed inside, the pressure building underneath him. Heat worked its way from his heart down to his toes, cleansing everything until nothing human remained. 

Something sparked behind his eyes, a small yellow ball of energy and he realized that it was his soul he was looking at, a tiny, simple thing really, battered and torn around the edges. Scars that still needed to be healed from Winchester’s old life. He could feel it getting wrapped inside the cosmic flame, absorbing it until the flame _became_ his soul, expanding it to fill his entire body. 

Before he was ready, Ed let go, and without his support, he slumped down to the ground, orbs of light dancing in his eyes. Everything seemed lighter now, more detailed. He lifted his head, eyes scanning everything with a newfound sense of wonder. 

All the little intricacies that he’d overlooked before were plain as day to him; the indent in the floor, the lone scratch on the otherwise flawless leather chair, the chip in the scotch glass… Even the colours appeared more vibrant than before. 

And then he looked at Castiel. Dean had to gasp. He could finally see what the angel really looked like, wings and all. He had a pair of gorgeous blackish blue wings folded neatly behind him, a hue of blue-white energy humming through its frame. They were shaking along with Cas’ body as he lurched forward towards Dean, his hands cupping his face with worry. 

Dean could see different frequencies of light undulating and moving underneath Cas’ skin. Sometimes two wavelengths would meet, colliding together to form a longer a longer, more intense length of light. He looked as full of life as the Christmas lights that stayed lit in the park, spreading their love and warmth to all who bore witness. 

“Cas,” Dean croaked out, unable to take his eyes off of his angel. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, he buried himself in Cas’ chest, wincing as pain throbbed through his limbs. Arms circled around his waist, pulling him tight. He had never been held so close in his life. 

“Alright boys, I’ve done what I can.” 

Grudgingly, Dean let go of Cas, positioning himself with painstaking care so he was leaning with his back on Cas’ lap, the angels arms draped loosely over Dean’s stomach. 

Dusting off his hands, Ed grabbed the neglected glass of scotch and downed the rest of it, gritting his teeth against the taste of the alcohol. Then he set the glass back down, half-facing the two of them on the floor. A loving small smile graced his face. “Make Daddy proud.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he just pursed his lips and turned on his heel, heading for the winding staircase. 

“Wait.” 

Ed stopped in his tracks, waiting for Cas to continue. For the last time, he faced his son, his expression tired and distraught. 

Working his mouth, Cas tried to say something, but nothing would come out. After a bit, he closed his eyes, sighing. “Thank you.” So much was communicated in two simple words. It was forgiveness. It was relief. It was everything that Cas couldn’t say, but wanted to. 

Before he could be held up any longer, Ed nodded. “Good luck,” he said, sounding entirely sincere. 

Neither of them said anything in response, just watched silently as Ed turned, finally walking up the stairs, into the long dark tunnel leading outside. There was no grand exit, no exuberant fanfare announcing his departure. Nothing but the silent shadows greedily clawing Ed into their midst. 

Dean doubted they would ever be seeing God again. 

The two stayed in their respective positions, neither too eager to move away from the other, as reality slowly caught up with them. Dean was a full-blown angel now, wings and all. He was waiting for Cas to say something, but the whole day must have been too much for the angel for he was silent. 

With great pain, Dean lifted himself off Cas’ lap, folding himself so he was sitting in front of him. The other raised his gaze to Dean’s, his eyes misty and red but glimmering with hope. Reaching out, Dean grabbed Cas’ hand gently, his thumb drawing circles on the meat of Cas’ hand. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean said with a grin, forgetting the pain that hummed through him. 

So many emotions flitted across Castiel’s face, some thrilled and some hurt but none staying long enough to be acknowledged. Eventually, his face stilled, his eyes finally _seeing_ Dean instead of just _looking_. And the expression that filled his face was one of sheer adoration.

“Hello Dean,” he smiled, a big full on 100-watt smile, so blinding it lit up the room. 

Feeling his own cheeks pull back in a bigger grin to match Cas’, Dean pushed himself forward and captured Cas’ mouth with his own in a gentle kiss. A part of him was scared that Cas wouldn’t accept Dean’s decision as his own and blame himself for the state Dean was in. The smile he gave said it all. 

It would always amaze Dean how much Castiel could communicate with just his gestures. Actions sometimes spoke louder than words, and with Cas, they said a lot.

Pulling back, Dean sat back down, the feeling of pure bliss he was experiencing easing his pain. All was well, except…

Except.

 

The whole flying wherever he wanted was difficult to master in five minutes. Cas had explained the basics before he actually tried, but just listening to him talk had made it seem so easy. Actually executing it was weirdly hard. After getting stuck inside a wall, and crashing through a closet into God knows what room, he got it right. 

Well, sort of. He landed not too gracefully into the too-damn-bright room, dusting a few loose feathers off his shoulder. Cas had wanted to come, but Dean said no; he knew this was something he had to do alone. Cas had opened his mouth to argue, but Dean had given him a big kiss to shut him up and disappeared before he could do anything about it.

Granted, he probably didn’t have to fly to his destination. He could have walked if he wanted to, but hey, trying out his new wings was all too tempting, even if it was for a short trip.

“Cas? Is that you?” a weary voice called from the wheelchair facing the wall-sized window. 

“Nope. Just me.” Dean walked over to Sam, putting a hand briefly on his shoulder in greeting. “Heya Sammy.” 

Sam’s dull hazel eyes softened at seeing him before confusion flickered. “How…”

Dean shrugged, an amused grin tugging on his lips. “I’m an angel. Who would’ve thought, huh?” He chuckled, raising his hands in a ‘well what are you gonna do’ gesture. “Been chased by those dicks who wanted a piece of this sweet ass for years and now…” He gestured at himself, still not believing it. 

Sam huffed out a chuckle, his apparatus clunking. “I think it suits you.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

“How did it happen?” Sam asked, his voice small but curious, muffled by the mask.

“Remember Chuck?” Dean asked. 

Sam nodded, glazed eyes falling from Dean’s to his nose. Time may have wearied his body, but his brain was practically as sharp as ever. “He was God wasn’t he? What was the price?”

“For once, nothing. It was his version of a ‘Sorry I suck at being a Dad’ Hallmark card.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, isn’t that the truth. You deserve it though.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, hiding his face before Sam could see the blush working its way onto his cheeks. “I’m happy for you. Really. You’re long overdue for your own happy ending.” 

Shaking, Sam raised his arms, still as long and gangly and awkward as he’d been when he was thirty. His hands twitched, telling Dean to give his little brother a hug. 

“So I guess this is goodbye.” Although it should have been a question, it was stated as a statement. 

Dean felt his heart clench. “No Sammy I’m… I’m here to fix you. As a thank you for helping me.” 

He didn’t exactly know the mechanics of how angels worked their mojo but he’s seen Cas do it a hundred times. It couldn’t be that hard to figure out. Concentrating on what he wanted, Dean lifted his hand to Sam’s forehead, surprised when strong fingers wrapped around his wrist, lowering it back down.

“No.”

Dean blanked. “No? What do you mean no?”

“I mean just that. Dean, I’ve lived my life. Short of a white picket fence, I had it all; a wife, kids, grandkids, a house, a dog… Everything you deserved too. I still had the job but as a Man of Letters, not a hunter. Something safer, something more stable. What started as your dream turned into my reality. 

“Even though losing you again was incredibly painful, I knew you would be okay and that we’d meet again someday. For once, my life wasn’t about trying to get revenge or running away because I was too afraid to face the truth. I was free to live my life. It was by no means normal, but it had a balance between normal and crazy.

“I’ve only lived this long because I had one last thing to witness; I wanted to see you happy, Dean. To have the life _he_ needed, lived out through you. I didn’t know how it would happen but here you are, a full-blown angel. Wings and all.

“Even if you heal me Dean, one day I will die. I’m still human. I can at least look back on my life now and say that I have no regrets. 

“What I’m saying Dean... is I’m ready to die.”

“Sammy, I…” Dean choked; fat wet tears falling freely down his face. 

“I can feel him. Death. It’s been a while.” Sam’s head fell back to rest on the back of his chair, his eyes falling closed. “Hope you still don’t have a grudge against the whole binding thing.” 

Sam was right; it was his time. In the corner, Dean could see Death waiting, cool as a cucumber with his hands folded neatly over the top of his cane. He waited for Death to move, but he stayed stoic, not moving an inch. Dean shot him a questioning look, earning a raised eyebrow and a knowing glance. 

And in that moment, Dean knew what he was supposed to do.

“I’ll do it. I’ll take you home,” he declared to Sam, eyes not moving from Death, waiting to see some sign that he was stepping out of line.

Sam rocked his head side to side. “I am home.” 

Death gave no sign that he was in the wrong, so Dean pushed forward. “No you’re not. Not yet. But I can take you there. Sam, let me take you to Heaven.”

Sam smiled sadly, his eyes half-opening. “I think we both know I won’t be going there. The big G man made an exception for me once, I don’t think he will again.”

“God isn’t around anymore. He doesn’t control anything, so if I say you’re going to Heaven, you bet your ass I’m taking you upstairs. You keep talking about what I deserve, but what about you, Gigantor? Everyone makes mistakes in their lives, but not everyone learns from them. You at least had the balls to acknowledge what you did and _fix_ it. 

“You fucking saved the world Sammy. No one has to make an exception for you because you have proven, hands down, that you deserve to be up there with Bobby, Mom, Dad, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Pam… even Jess. If you’re ready to bite the big one, then at least let me give you the best possible ending.”

“Dean, I really can’t…”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Understand? Please, let me do this one last thing, as a last hurrah for me, for you, and for Dean Winchester.”

Sam let out his breath slowly, his eyes trained on the ceiling. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Just... say hi to them for me.”

“You can see them whenever you want. You’re an angel now remember? You’ll be allowed to pop into the Roadhouse anytime. “

“I know, I just have a lot to take in first and uh... I don’t know how long it will take.”

“Dude, it’s okay to say you want to spend time with your boyfriend first. We won’t be going anywhere, so take all the time you need. ”Dean brushed his cheeks roughly, scrubbing them clean. Sam dropped his eyes back to Dean, a spark of warmth still clinging to his dull eyes. “See you on the other side?”

“You bet your skinny ass.” 

Assuming that the process for reaping souls was the same for both reapers and angels, Dean stepped forward, raising his hand to touch Sam’s forehead lightly. A warm sensation passed through Dean’s fingers, working its way down his arm and settling on top of Sam’s heart. Underneath his digits, Sam grew still, life fading slowly from him. Without hesitation, Dean closed Sam’s eyes, feeling the last of his breathe escaping. 

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

 

The road sped by underneath the Impala’s wheels as Blue Oyster Cult blared from the car stereo. In the driver’s seat, there sat a replica of a young Dean Winchester, feeling around beside him. Successfully finding a spoon, he brandished it, and gently popped it into his younger brother’s mouth, which was wide open, a dribble of drool collecting in the corner. He let out a silent cheer, pulling out his cellphone to take a picture. One click later, the memory of Dean put the phone away, and decided to blast his music, singing along off tune. 

It was a scene Dean Smith remembered well. 

Sam flailed awake, quickly tossing the spoon out of his mouth, confused. His head swiveled, his ridiculous hair flopping in front of his eyes to see the younger Dean in the driver seat. “Dean?”

His brother gave him a quick glance before turning back to the road, chuckling. “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.” 

Sam didn’t say anything, just stared at his brother, his jaw partially hanging open. Turning down the music, Winchester shot his brother another glance. “Start what up?”

“This is your Heaven?” 

Sam whipped around in his seat to face the back of the car, eyes widening at seeing Dean Smith. The new angel chuckled, hiding the emotional lump that was forming in his throat. 

“I have to say, it sure beats the one you used to have.” Dean could feel the pressure of more tears building behind his eyes, but damn it all, he would not cry again. But to say that he wasn’t moved to near tears would have been a downright lie. 

Sam huffed a laugh. “I guess I didn’t realize what was really important to me until it was gone.” He gave the biggest smile he could manage at Dean. “Thank you. Really. I... I don’t know what.. I mean, I can never repay you.”

“Dude, come on. I may be a less psychotic version of this fella in the front seat, but I’m still your brother. In spirit anyways, and I don’t charge family. Now just… enjoy. Go and find the others if you can. Have fun in Heaven. I’ll be back later.”

Sam raised his hand, and Dean clasped his own in Sam’s. Their hands embraced in a final salute; a promise to see each other again. 

“What’s the matter Sammy, scared you’re gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again?”

Both Sam and Dean laughed, the former dropping the embrace and turning back around in his seat. “I’ve missed you Dean,” he said to the memory of his brother. 

Dean Smith smiled; absorbing the scene he remembered living out in a past life.

“Ah ha, bring it on Baldy.” 

It could not have been possible for Sam’s smile to get any bigger after that comment, eyes sparkling. “Where are we, anyways?” 

Feeling like he had outstayed his welcome, Dean flared his wings and took flight, leaving the scene behind him. 

 

“I thought I’d find you here.” Dean didn’t look up from the table as a coffee cup slid into his view. He heard the squeak of a chair as Castiel sat down opposite of him. “How’s Sam?”

“He’s uh… He’s gonna be okay.” 

He reached forward, grabbing the cup off the saucer and taking a sip, eyes roaming up to Cas. His blue eyes skirted all over Dean’s face, asking a silent question. _Are you okay?_ He could only nod and smile. As much as it sucked that Sam was dead, he could be happy that the boy was enjoying his finest moments upstairs. 

They sat in mutual silence, both absorbing the events of the day. Everything seemed like it was finally weighing down on Dean; Jesus fucking Christ he was an _angel_ of the fucking _lord_. He should have felt different, but the only noted difference he could make that was everything around him seemed sharper. That, and he could see Cas’ enormous wings folded neatly behind his back, shimmering silver in the sunlight.

Dean’s gaze dropped down to his hands. At some point, he was expecting a great big panic attack courtesy of his less confident side saying that what he’d done was wrong. That Cas wouldn’t want him anymore. Strangely, it never came. All he felt was a great sense of peace. 

“You know…” Dean looked up from his hands, surprised to see Castiel so flustered. “If you need time… I understand.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cas sighed. “It was a difficult task I know. Making such a hasty decision has repercussions, and sometimes they don’t catch up with you until the world slows down. Giving up everything for someone you – “

“Cas,” Dean said forcefully. “If you think I regret my decision, you can just shut the fuck up right now. Because I don’t.” 

As much as Dean could sympathize with Cas in how he felt about the whole situation, he really needed Castiel to understand that he didn’t regret anything. Nothing has changed between them except a pair of wings and a promise of a better existence. How he could make Cas see that though was going to be a bit tough.

“Remember when you stood against Raphael?” 

Cas regarded Dean, squinting his eyes. “Of course.”

“Why did you do it? I mean you didn’t have to spit in the face of your older brothers.”

“Rather inarticulate way of proclaiming it but no, I didn’t.”

“Then why?” 

“Because I chose what I believed to be right. What you have taught me was right.” 

Dean knew the answer before Cas said it. Regardless, hearing it made his heart swell. “And you did it of your own free will, right?”

“Yes, of course. Your argument was sound and convincing - it compelled me to do the right thing.” Realization dawned on Cas.

“You see? I gave you the motive and the opportunity, but you flipped on your own terms. I could have screamed at you ‘til I was blue in the face, but you chose to listen to me. Angels don’t need to listen to humans, but you chose to listen to me and make your own choice. This is what is important Cas, the ability for us to choose our own fates. You chose yours that day, as I chose mine today. And I have faith you don’t regret it.”

“I have a long list of choices I’ve made that I regret, a lot of them entailing you and how badly I hurt you. Yet, I’ve never regretted an instant of our time together, not even when you almost gave yourself over to Michael.” 

“That is the corniest thing I have ever heard, but I agree. I don’t regret anything.” Cas’ eyes brightened, his rare smile peeking out from its hiding place. “So, are we good?”

“It will take me some time to get used to seeing you with emerald wings but, yeah. We’re good.”

“Awesome.” Dean smirked. “I have emerald wings?”

Cas chuckled, pulling off a familiar necklace and dangling its contents in front of Dean. “Would you like this back?”

The silver ring glinted in the sunlight, turning briefly to gold. “Now Cas, is that anyway to propose to your angelic boyfriend?”

Cas’ eyes popped briefly. “I wasn’t aware that – “

Dean chuckled, leaning back in his seat, draping an arm on the back of his chair. “Babe, calm down. Just yanking your chain. I- or rather old me- gave that to you on a promise. Just, keep it for now.” A thought dawned on Dean. “Can angels get married?”

“I don’t see why not. There is no protocol saying we can’t.” Slipping it up and off, Cas took the ring off the chain. He held it aloft between his index and thumb, a twinkle in his eye. “I’d like you to follow through on your promise.”

“What right now? In the middle of the coffee shop?”

“I’ve been waiting for fifty years Dean.”

“A coffee shop is not the greatest place for something like this-“

“By human conventions, I suppose. But this is where we met again, and started what we have now. To me, this is the most important place on Earth.”

Dean’s mouth flopped open, his eyes darting around the shop. Aside from the few curious glances their way, no one was paying attention to them, but that would change fast if Dean did what Cas was asking him to do. It was like he knew Dean wouldn’t do it – pride would stop him as would sheer humiliation- but he was different now. Life had a different meaning, and if he so chose he could disappear on the spot. 

One side of his mouth curled up, Cas’ falling down as Dean yanked the ring out of his hand. “You asked for it buddy.”

“Wait, Dean I – “

His knees felt stiff, one popping after the other as he knelt down. Angelic powers were already working hard to fix it. Cas stood up fast out of his chair, its feet skidding across the floor and drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes widened as they flickered around the room, a cornered kitten surrounded by hyenas. Dean was so gonna pay for this later, but hey, let the games begin.

“Cas, you have been my guardian angel for longer than I thought possible. And damn it all if I wouldn’t count myself as one lucky son of a bitch.” _All right, Dean, no need to get super sentimental._ “I don’t know how we managed it, but here we are. Still standing despite everything. Which can only mean that we’re meant to be. You’re the Leia to my Han Solo, Cas. It’s simple as that. Which means, I have only one question for you.

“Will you marry me, Castiel?”

Every eye in the place was on them; customers, workers, random onlookers. Cell phones were taping, and Dean knew that before the day was out, the video would be all over the Internet. Yet he really couldn’t give two fucks. 

The expression on Cas’ face was priceless; shock mixed with nothing but sheer adoration. It was something Dean had never seen before, but it was something he would treasure ‘til the end of his days. 

There was no doubt as to what his answer would be. Cas hooded his eyes, a hand hovering over his mouth as he composed himself. When he lowered it, the biggest smile ever was plastered on his face, glowing like the supernova his vessel contained. He didn’t say anything as his gaze met Dean’s, his hand ghosting out in silent agreement. 

Dean slipped the ring on, the one he knew Winchester’s mother used to wear. It should have seemed weird, giving Cas a piece of his old life, yet it worked for Dean. He accepted who Winchester was, and what he meant to Cas and himself. The two aspects of him were one, and Cas loved both of them. 

Cas cupped Dean’s chin and raised him out of his position. Saying anything would ruin the moment. Wordlessly, Cas captured Dean’s mouth with his in a gentle kiss, the place erupting with cheers that sounded muffled to Dean, as blood pumped in his ears. He was never one for public displays of affection, but it didn’t feel public; everyone felt like they faded into the distance; inconsequential specks of dust that could not mar his moment. 

No one mattered in their own little universe except for the two of them: Castiel and Dean Smith.

It was the first day of the rest of their lives. The past nothing but a blur and the future, open to all sorts of possibilities.


End file.
